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HER 

MAJESTY’S 

MINISTER 

By 

william Le Queux 

\\ 

Author of 

‘^Zoraida/’ “Scribes and Pharisees,” etc. 



NEW YORK 

Dodd, Mead M Company 

1901 




THE LI8f?ARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two OofNM Receivco 

MAY. 4 1901 

CopvRtaMT em-RY 

CUA88 dtrXXo. Hm. 
COPY 0. 


Copyright, 1901 

BY 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 


Copyright, 1900 

BY 


WILLIAM LE QUEUX 

“ The Shadow of a Throne ” 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. HIS EXCELLENCY 1 

II. TWO ENIGMAS . . . .12 

III. YOLANDE 24 

IV. A CURIOUS STORY 32 

V. LA COMTESSE 43 

VI. A PIECE OF PLAIN PAPER ... 53 

VII. BY A THREAD 62 

VIII. THE OLD LOVE 76 

IX. AT THE ELYSEE 83 

X. CONFESSION 93 

XI. DEANE SPEAKS HIS MIND . . . 105 

XII. THE ENGLISH TEA-SHOP . . . 116 

XIII. THE spy’s report .... 124 

XIV. SMART PARIS 135 

XV. ACROSS THE CHANNEL .... 145 

XVI. DAWN 155 

XVII. EDITH AUSTIN 164 

XVIII. BY DAY AND BY NIGHT .... 175 

XIX. WHISPERED WORDS .... 186 

XX. FROM DOWNING STREET TO PARIS . 193 


V 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XXI. 

THE SISTER ARTS 

. 

. . 

PAGE 

204 

XXII. 

PERFUME AND POLITICS 

. 

• 

212 

XXIII. 

PRINCESS LEONIE 

. 

. 

223 

XXIV. 

IN THE FOREST OF FONTAINEBLEAU 

231 

XXV. 

ENGLAND’S ENEMIES 

. 

. 

243 

XXVI. 

A woman’s heart . 

. 

. 

254 

XXVII. 

THE UNEXPECTED 

. 

. 

264 

XXVIII. 

ON THE crooked WAY 

. 

. 

272 

XXIX. 

KAYE IS PUZZLED 

. 

. 

282 

XXX. 

KNIGHTS OF INDUSTRY 

. 

. 

291 

XXXI. 

THE RED ASS 

. 

. 

301 

XXXII. 

BETRAYAL 

. 

. 

310 

XXXIII. 

WHICH CONTAINS A SURPRISE 

. 

320 

XXXIV. 

AT BORDIGHERA 

. 

. 

331 

XXXV. 

IN WHICH EDITH SPEAKS PLAINLY . 

340 

XXXVI. 

THE SECRET 

. 

. 

350 

XXXVII. 

CONCLUSION 



359 


Her Majesty’s Minister 


CHAPTEE I 

HIS EXCELLENCY 

“ Then, plainly speaking, the whole thing remains 
a mystery ? ” 

“ Absolutely,” I responded. “ All my eiforts have 
unfortunately failed.” 

“ And you entertain no suspicion of any one ? ” 

“None whatever.” 

“Not of that woman Yolande — or whatever her 
name is ? ” 

“ Certainly not of her,” I answered quickly. “ She 
would assist us, if necessary.” 

“ Why are you so sure of that ? She has only been 
in Paris a week.” 

“ Because I happen to know her.” 

“ You know her ! ” exclaimed His Excellency, un- 
clasping his thin white hands and leaning across his 
big writing-table — a habit of his when suddenly in- 
terested. “ Is she a personal friend of yours ? ” 

I hesitated for a moment; then replied in the 
affirmative. 

“ Where did you know her ? ” he inquired quickly, 
fixing me with that sharp pair of black eyes that shone 
1 


2 Her Majesty’s Minister 

behind the zone of soft light shed by the green-shaded 
reading-lamp upon the table. He was sitting in the 
shadow, hk thin, refined face ashen grey, his hair al- 
most white. The one spot of colour was the fine star 
of Knight Grand Cross of the Bath glittering on the 
breast of his braided diplomatic uniform. Lord Bar- 
mouth, British Ambassador to the French Kepublic, 
had just returned from the President’s reception at 
the Elysee, and had summoned me for consultation. 

“Well,” I responded, “I knew her in Kome, among 
other places.” 

“H’m, I thought as much,” he remarked in a dry, 
dubious tone. “ I don’t like her, Ingram — I don’t like 
her ; ” and I knew by the impatient snap of the Am- 
bassador’s fingers that something had displeased him. 

“ You’ve seen her, then ? ” 

“Yes,” he answered in an ambiguous tone, taking 
up a quill and making what appeared to be geometrical 
designs upon his blotting-pad. “ She’s good-looking — 
uncommonly good-looking ; but I mistrust her.” 

“ It is part of our creed to mistrust a pretty woman,” 
I remarked with a smile ; for, as every one knows, the 
fair sex plays a prominent part in the diplomacy of 
Europe. “ But what cause have you for suspicion ? ” 

He was silent for a moment, then he said ; 

“ You were not at the ball at the Austrian Embassy 
the night before last, I believe.” 

“Ho, I was not back from London in time,” I re- 
plied. “ Was she there ? ” 

“ Yes. She was dancing with Hartmann, and they 
were speaking of you. I was chatting with Olsoufieff, 
and distinctly overheard your name mentioned.” 

“ With Hartmann ! ” I repeated. “ That’s curious. 
He is scarcely a friend of ours.” 


His Excellency 3 

“ I consider the circumstance suspicious, judged by 
the light of recent events,” he said. “ Kemember that 
the cause of our piece of ill-fortune still remains a 
mystery, and the stroke of diplomacy that we intended 
to effect as a coup against our enemies has, by the 
dastardly betrayal of our secret, placed us in a very 
unenviable position. This untoward incident has en- 
tirely checkmated us.” 

“ I fully realise our critical position,” I said seri- 
ously, ‘‘ and I have done my utmost to discover the 
truth. Kaye has been active night and day.” 

“ Nevertheless, I fear that at Downing Street they 
will say hard things of us, Ingram ; ” and Her Maj- 
esty’s representative sighed heavily, resting his weary 
head upon his hand. 

The Ambassador’s office was indeed a very thank- 
less one, while my own position as second secretary 
of the Paris Embassy was a post not to be envied, 
even though it is popularly supposed to be one of the 
plums of the diplomatic service. With Paris full of 
spies endeavouring to discover our secrets and divine 
our instructions from Downing Street, and the cabinet 
noir ever at work upon our correspondence, it be- 
hoved us to be always on the alert, and to have resort 
to all manner of ingenious subterfuges in order to 
combat our persistent enemies. 

The war-cloud hangs over Europe always. The 
mine is laid, and the slightest spark may fire it. The 
duty of the diplomatist to intrigue so as to prevent 
that spark. It is the intrigue that is difficult, for 
counter-plots are met with everywhere. The power 
of England is feared ; hence her isolation. 

Those who live at home at ease think little of the 
small band of Englishmen in each of the capitals who, 


4 Her Majesty’s Minister 

living ever upon the edge of a volcano, are straining 
every nerve to preserve the peace of Europe. How 
often the stability of empires trembles in the balance 
the British public little dreams. “The European 
Situation ” is a stock heading in the London news- 
papers, but fortunately the journalists never know the 
secrets of our embassies, otherwise the world would 
very often be scared. Many a time in my own diplo- 
matic career in Kome, in Brussels, and in Vienna, had 
I remained awake at night, fearing on the morrow a 
declaration of war ; yet the chiefs under whom I have 
worked — those honest, upright, valiant servants of 
Queen and country — had skillfully evaded the threat- 
ened danger, and Europe remained in ignorance of 
how terribly near it had been to the clash of arms. 

That night, as I sat with the chief, a trusted serv^ 
ant of Her Majesty, in his handsome private room in 
the Embassy, I knew that war was in the air. The 
responsibility resting upon him was of a sort to in- 
volve the prestige of the Queen’s Empire and the lives 
of thousands of her valiant sons. An ill-advised de- 
spatch, a hasty word, or an injudicious attitude would 
inevitably mean the disastrous explosion so long 
feared — the great European war that prophets have 
been predicting ever since the downfall of the French 
Empire. 

Paris that July night was stifling. To us the ten- 
sion of the day had been terrible. The catastrophe so 
long feared seemed now upon us. There was a breath- 
less calm in the air outside, foreboding a storm. 

“Has Kaye absolutely nothing to report?” asked 
His Excellency, at last breaking the silence. 

“ He returned from Madrid at nine o’clock to-night. 
His journey there was futile.” 


His Excellency 5 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed His Excellency, whose thin lips 
closed tightly again. 

Through the years that I had served under him in 
Home and afterwards in Paris I had never before seen 
him outwardly betray the slightest apprehension. So 
skilled was he as a diplomatist that his sangfroid was 
always perfect. His motto — one that he had often 
impressed upon me — was that the British lion should 
always remain fearless of his enemies. But now, for 
the first time, he was plainly agitated, dreading that 
war might result. 

“Get me out the special cipher-book,” he said 
hoarsely at last. “I must telephone to Downing 
Street.” 

In obedience I rose, opened with the key upon my 
chain the big safe, and took out the small morocco- 
bound volume containing the secret cipher by means 
of which His Excellency could communicate with Her 
Majesty’s Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs — a 
book supplied only to ambassadors themselves ; and, 
because it is kept locked, its contents are never seen 
even by the staff of an embassy. 

His Excellency unlocked it with his own key, took 
up his quill, and after searching here and there through 
the pages, commenced writing a bewildering row of 
letters and numerals intermingled, while in the mean- 
time I had gone to the telephone instrument at the 
opposite end of the room and “rung up” London, 
until there came an answering voice from one of the 
night staff of the Foreign Office. 

“Hulloa! I’m Ingram, of the Paris Embassy. 
Who are you ? ” I asked. 

In response came a password by which I knew I 
was actually speaking with Downing Street. 


6 Her Majesty’s Minister 

‘‘ Is the Marquess in London, or at Alderhurst, to* 
night ? ” 

‘‘ Alderhurst. He left town this afternoon.” 

“ Then put me on there for an important despatch.” 

“ All right,” was the response ; and some five rain^ 
utes later the tiny bell rang, with an inquiry from the 
private secretary of the great statesman as to what I 
wanted. 

I answered ; then. His Excellency having risen and 
handed me the slip of official paper on which he had 
printed the cipher figures heavily with his quill, I pref- 
aced the message by the usual formal announcement : 

“ From Lord Barmouth, Paris, to the Most Noble the 
Marquess of Malvern, London. July 12th, 1:30 A. M.” 

Then in continuation I read slowly and distinctly 
each letter and numeral, the secretary at Alderhurst 
afterwards repeating the whole message, so that there 
should be no possibility of mistake. 

Nearly a quarter of an hour elapsed, during which 
time His Excellency, with his hands behind his back, 
paced feverishly up and down the room. Of the na- 
ture of that despatch I was in utter ignorance, but 
from his manner it was evident that the problem was 
one vital to the interests of the British Empire. By 
night, as well as by day, those responsible for the 
maintenance of the prestige of England as the first 
Empire of the world are always active. How little 
the public knows of the stealthy, treacherous ways of 
modern diplomacy, of the armies of spies seeking al- 
ways to plot and counter-plot, of the base subterfuges 
employed by certain noted foreign diplomatists, or of 
the steady perseverance of the Queen’s representatives 
at the Courts of Europe ! And how little, I fear, they 
care I 


7 


His Excellency 

To most people the diplomatic career is synonymous 
with an easy occupation in which the wearing of a 
uniform and the attendance at brilliant functions are 
the greatest inconveniences. The newspapers flippantly 
criticise our actions in leading articles, and declare that 
our diplomacy is utterly worthless beside that of Ger- 
many, Eussia, or France. Those who write, as well 
as those who read, never reflect that our chief dut}^ is 
to foil the provocations offered to us by the Powers 
who are anxious for war. Every British Ambassador 
at a foreign Court had been told from the lips of his 
beloved Sovereign — now, alas ! deceased — that he must 
prevent war. That instruction was to hiin as sacred 
as a religion. 

“ The President talked for twenty minutes to-night 
with de Wolkenstein,” observed His Excellency, halt- 
ing suddenly and facing me. “ I wonder if they know 
anything in Vienna?” 

“ I think not,” I replied. “ I met Count Berchtold 
in the Grand Cafe purposely this evening, and he 
made no mention of anything to lead me to believe 
that the secret was out in that direction.” 

“ If it is out, then it has been circulated by our 
friends in the Eue de Lille,” he said, meaning the 
German Embassy. 

“ Perhaps,” I responded. “ But I hardly think that 
Count de Hindenburg would care to imperil his posi- 
tion by so doing. He would rather endeavour to as- 
sist us in this affair, because the interests of England 
and Germany are entirelj’^ mutual in this matter.” 

“ I tell you, Ingram,” he cried angrily — “ I tell you 
that this dastardly piece of trickery is some woman’s 
work ! ” 

As he spoke, the door suddenly opened, and there 


8 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

burst into the room a tall girlish figure in a pretty 
toilette of turquoise chiffon, wearing an open cape of 
handsome brocade about her shoulders. 

“ O father ! ” she cried merrily, “ weVe had such an 
awfully good time at the Baroness’s ! ” Then, next 
instant, astonished by his words, she drew back in 
quick surprise. 

“What trickery is a woman’s work?” she asked, 
glancing inquiringly at me. 

“Nothing, my dear,” His Excellency hastened to 
reply, placing his thin hand tenderly upon her shoul- 
der — “ nothing, at least, that concerns you.” 

“ But you are not well ! ” she cried in alarm. Then, 
turning to me, said : “ Look, Mr. Ingram, how pale 
he is ! ” 

“Your father is rather overburdened by important 
business,” I replied. 

Her face assumed a puzzled expression. Sibyl, the 
pretty, dark-haired daughter of Lord Barmouth, was 
acknowledged on all sides to be more than usually 
beautiful, and was the pet of diplomatic Paris. With 
her mother she went everywhere in that dazzling 
vortex of gaiety, in which the diplomatist accredited 
to France is bound to move. Ah! that glare and 
glitter, that constant whirl, that never-ceasing music ! 
How weary I was of it all, and how it jarred upon 
me ! 

And why ? Well, to speak the truth, I myself had 
an affair of the heart, and my thoughts were always 
far from those brilliant spectacles in which I was 
merely an official in a braided uniform. 

“ What has occurred, Mr. Ingram ? ” asked the Am- 
bassador’s daughter anxiously. “Father is certainly 
not himself to-night.” 


His Excellency g 

“Another political complication,” I responded ; “ that 
is all.” 

“Sibyl, my dear,” exclaimed her father, gently 
taking her hand, “you know that I forbid any in- 
quiries to be made into matters which must be secret, 
even from you.” 

“ I came to tell you all about the ball,” she said, 
pouting. “ I was introduced to a most pleasant man 
named Wolf, and danced with him several times.” 

“ Wolf ! ” I cried quickly. “ Kodolphe Wolf ? ” 

“That was his name. He was dark, about forty, 
with a small pointed black beard. Do you know 
him ? ” 

“Wolf!” I repeated; then, suddenly recovering 
from the surprise she had caused me by uttering that 
name, I answered carelessly : “ Perhaps it may be the 
same man I knew slightly some years ago.” 

“We had awfully good fun. He is so amusing, but 
seems quite a stranger in Paris.” 

I smiled inwardly. Kodolphe Wolf a stranger in 
Paris ! The thought was amusing. 

“And what was your conversation about?” I in- 
quired of her, smiling pleasantly the while. 

“You want to know whether he flirted with me, 
Mr. Ingram ? ” she laughed mischievously. “ I know 
you of old. It really isn’t fair.” 

“ He said nothing to you about your father, or about 
the composition of his staff ? ” I inquired eagerly. 

“ Hothing.” 

“And you did not mention my name?” I asked 
anxiously. 

“ Ho. Why ? You talk as though you don’t want 
him to know you are in Paris.” 

You have exactly guessed my desire,” I replied. 


10 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ If you meet him again, kindly oblige me by saying 
nothing.” 

“Do not utter a word regarding matters here at the 
Embassy, Sibyl,” added her father seriously. “You 
understand ? ” 

“ Of course not. I’m a diplomat’s daughter, and can 
keep a secret when necessary. But tell me, father,” 
she added, “ who is the woman of whom you were 
speaking when I came in ? ” 

“ It is our affair, my dear — entirely our affair,” he 
said in a hard voice. “ It is nothing you need trouble 
your head over. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the ball. 
Say good-night, and leave us.” 

“ But you look quite ill,” she said with concern in 
her voice, stroking his heated forehead with her hand. 
“ Cannot I get you something ? ” 

“I^othing, dear.” 

She was a charming type of English girl, smart, ac- 
complished, and utterly devoted to her father. That 
she delighted in mild flirtations here and there in the 
cosmopolitan circle in which she moved I was well 
aware, and we were such old friends that I often 
chaffed her about her fickleness. But that night she 
had met Kodolphe Wolf, of all men. The fact was 
strange, to say the least. 

“ Shall I send Harding to you ? ” she asked, stand- 
ing there in the shadow, the diamond star in her well- 
dressed hair alone catching the light and gleaming 
with a thousand fires. The star was a parting gift to 
her by Queen Margherita of Italy, with whom she 
had been an especial favourite while her father was 
Ambassador in Kome. 

“ Ho,” answered His Excellency. “ Please say good' 
night, dear, and leave us.” 


His Excellency 1 1 

Then he bent, kissed her tenderly on the brow, and 
dismissed her. 

“Well,” she laughed poutingly, “if I am ordered 
olf, I suppose I must go. I’m a striking example of 
the obedient daughter. Good-night, Mr. Ingram.” 

And as I held open the door for her to pass out, 
she added mischievously : 

“ I’ll leave you to talk together over the shortcom- 
ings of my sex ; ” and laughing gaily she disappeared 
down the corridor. 


CHAPTEE II 


TWO ENIGMAS 

“Who is this Wolf?” the Ambassador inquired 
quickly, as soon as I had closed the door. “ I don’t 
seem to recollect the name.” 

“ I have a suspicion,” I responded. “ When it is es- 
tablished I will explain.” 

“ An alias — eh ? ” 

“I think so,” I said. “Your daughter should be 
warned against him. They had better not meet.” 

“ I will see to that,” he said, and the next instant 
the telephone-bell rang loudly, announcing the response 
from Alderhurst. 

In a moment we were both at the instrument. Then 
with the receiver at my ear I inquired who was there. 

“ Durnford, Alderhurst,” was the response. “ Are 
you Ingram ? ” 

I replied in the affirmative, adding the word with- 
out the receipt of which no cipher despatch is ever 
sent by telephone, lest some trickery should be at- 
tempted. 

“ Take down, then,” came the secretary’s voice from 
the other side of the Channel. “ From the Marquess 
of Malvern, to His Excellency, Lord Barmouth, Paris. 
July 12, 2:10 A. M. ; ” and then followed a long row of 
ciphers, each of which I carefully wrote down upon 
the paper before me, reading it through aloud, in order 
that he might compare it with his copy. 

Then, when the voice from Alderhurst gave the 
13 


Two Enigmas 13 

word “ End,” I hung up the receiver and gave the 
paper into His Excellency’s eager hands. 

Those puzzling lines of letters and numerals were 
secret instructions from the ruler of England’s destiny, 
who had been called from his bed to decide one of the 
most critical problems of statesmanship. Truly the 
position of the British Minister for Foreign Affairs is 
no enviable one. The responsibility is the heaviest 
weighing upon any one man in the whole world. 

His Excellency seated himself quickly at his table, 
and with the aid of a second book which I handed 
him from the safe proceeded to decipher the Chief’s 
despatch. With his pen he placed the equivalent be- 
neath each cipher, and as he did so I saw that his coun- 
tenance fell. He went pale as death. 

“ Ah ! ” he gasped, when he had finished the arrange- 
ment and had read the deciphered message through. 
“ It is exactly as I feared. Never in the course of my 
career as Ambassador has such a serious complication 
arisen — never ! ” 

I was silent. What, indeed, could I say ? I well 
knew that he was not the man to betray the slightest 
emotion without good reason. 

For a moment he sat there, resting his brow upon 
his hand, staring blankly at the paper I had given 
him. The nature of his secret instructions I knew 
not. His utter despair was sufficient to convince me, 
however, that a catastrophe was inevitable. Only the 
low ticking of the clock upon the high mantelshelf 
broke the painful silence. The representative of Her 
Majesty — one of England’s most skilled and trusted 
diplomats— sighed heavily, for he knew too well how 
black was the outlook at that moment — how, indeed, 
because of our mysterious betrayal, our enemies had 


14 Her Majesty’s Minister 

triumphed, and how, at the other embassies, that very 
night the downfall of England’s power was being dis- 
cussed. 

“ All this is a woman’s doing, I tell you ! ” he cried, 
striking the table fiercely, rising and pacing the room. 
“We must discover the truth — we must, you hear ? ” 

“ I am making every possible effort,” I answered, 
adding, “ I think I have hitherto shown myself worthy 
of your confidence ? ” 

“Certainly, Ingram,” he hastened to assure me. 
“Without you here I should not dare to act as I have 
done. I know that nothing escapes you. Your 
shrewdness is equal to that of old Sterk, the Chief of 
Police in Vienna.” 

“You are too complimentary,” I said; “I have 
merely done my duty.” 

“But if we could only get at the truth in this 
affair ! ” 

“ At present it is an absolute mystery. Only two 
persons were aware of the secret. You knew it, and 
I also knew it. And yet it is out — indeed, the very 
terms of the agreement are known ! ” 

Suddenly halting, he pushed open the window, and 
looked out upon the hot, overcast night. Paris was 
still bright with her myriad electric lights, and the 
glaring cafes on the boulevards were still as busy as 
during the hour of the absinthe. The City of Pleasure 
never sleeps. 

He leaned over the balcony, gasping for air ; but in 
an instant I was behind him, saying : 

“ Some one may be watching outside. Is it really 
wise for you to be seen ? ” 

“ Ho,” he answered. “ You’re right, Ingram ; ” and 
he turned back and closed the long windows opening 


Two Enigmas 

upon the balcony. “ A bold front must be maintained 
through all.” He walked to his table, took up the 
despatch, and, striking a vesta, ignited it, holding it 
until it was completely consumed. Then he cast the 
blackened tinder into the grate, growing in a single 
instant calm again. “ You are right, Ingram,” he re- 
peated rather hoarsely. “ Our enemies must not ob- 
tain any inkling that we know the truth, if we are to 
effect a successful counter-plot. In this affair I detect 
the hand of a woman. Is not that your opinion ? ” 

“ I must admit that it is,” I responded. “ I believe 
there is a female spy somewhere.” 

“ But who is she ? ” he cried anxiously. 

“ Ah ! ” I said, “ we have yet to discover her name.” 

“It is not Yolande?” he asked dubiously. 

“ Ho. Of that I feel quite certain.” 

“ But you are certain of nothing else ? ” 

“ All the rest is, I regret, an absolute mystery.” 

There was no disguising the fact that the informa- 
tion which by very mysterious means had leaked out 
from the Embassy had created the most intense ex- 
citement in certain other foreign embassies in Paris. 
Kaye, the chief of our secret service in the French 
capital — a shrewd fellow, whose capacity for learning 
which way the diplomatic wind was blowing was 
little short of marvellous — had come to me at mid- 
night to report that the Spanish Ambassador was ex- 
changing frequent despatches with Madrid. That 
statement was sufficient to show the enemy’s hand. 

For fully six months France had been scheming to 
obtain a naval station in the Mediterranean, and the 
point she coveted was Ceuta, on the Moorish coast, 
opposite Gibraltar. Knowledge of this caused us to 
exercise the most delicate diplomacy in order to thwart, 


i6 Her Majesty’s Minister 

the conspiracy to aim a blow against England’s naval 
power in the Mediterranean. A week ago I had been 
in London, and the Marquess of Malvern himself had 
given me a crossed despatch to convey to my chief in 
Paris. This had contained certain instructions in 
cipher, which, on my return, I had helped to translate 
into English. Then the despatch was burnt by His 
Excellency, and we alone knew its contents. From 
the moment I received it in the Marquess’s private 
room at the Foreign Office, until the moment when I 
handed it over to Lord Barmouth in Paris with its 
five great seals intact, it had never left the pouch 
of chamois-leather which, when travelling with 
despatches, I always wore around my waist, next 
my skin. For spies to have obtained a copy of 
it was impossible. I had seen it written, and had 
likewise seen it destroyed. It was not likely 
either that the British Ambassador had himself ex- 
posed his secret instructions in a matter of such deli- 
cacy, where the greatest finesse and the most skillful 
diplomacy were necessary ; and equally certain was 
it that I myself had not uttered a single word. 

The secret instructions showed marvellous foresight, 
as did all the actions of the great statesman in whose 
hands rested the prestige of England among the 
Powers. They were briefiy to show with great deli- 
cacy to the Spanish Ambassador that his Government, 
having regard to existing relations, had no right to 
sell Ceuta to any Power, and that if any attempt were 
made by any other Government to establish a naval 
station there, England would oppose it to the utmost, 
even to the extent of hostilities. Yet somehow, by 
means that formed a most puzzling enigma, these 
secret instructions had become instantly known to 


Two Enigmas 17 

France ; and even before Lord Barmouth could obtain 
an interview with the Marquis Leon y Castillo, the 
French Minister of Foreign Affairs had called at the 
Embassy in the Boulevard de Courcelles, and had ap- 
parently arranged a line of action. Thus England 
had been checkmated, and in all probability the sale 
of that most important strategic point in the Mediter- 
ranean had already been effected. 

Kaye had been to Madrid, and his inquiries in the 
Spanish capital tended to confirm this theory. 

Truly we were in evil case. So decisive had been 
His Excellency’s instructions that if he did not now 
vigorously protest and threaten a cessation of diplo- 
matic negotiations it would exhibit such weakness as 
the British Government must never show. That 
motto of Lord Malvern’s, “ To be strong is to avert 
war ; to be weak is to invite it,” is ever foremost in 
the mind of each representative of Her Majesty at a 
foreign Court. Yet Lord Barmouth’s dilemma was, 
indeed, a serious one. He had declared the exposure 
of our secret due to some woman’s scheming, and sus- 
pected one person — the pretty Yolande de Foville. 
His suspicion of her caused me a good deal of refiec- 
tion; and as I walked along the boulevard to my 
bachelor apartment au troisieme, I pondered seriously. 
What, I wondered, had caused him to think ill of her ? 
If she had danced with Hartmann, this action was 
surely not enough to condemn her. Yet why, I 
wondered, had she mentioned myself ? And why, in- 
deed, was Kodolphe Wolf, of all men, in Paris? 

Ho, I did not like the aspect of things in the least. 
The night was absolutely breathless, and the asphalt 
of the boulevard seemed to reflect back into one’s face 
the heat of the sun that had blazed upon it during the 


i8 Her Majesty’s Minister 

day. I removed my hat, and walked with it in my 
hand, my brain awhirl. The spies of France had ef- 
fected a coup against us, and within twenty-four hours 
Europe might, I knew, be convulsed by a declaration 
of war. 

Here and there the cafes were still open, but few 
customers were inside. A pair of drunken roysterers 
staggered past me singing that catchy song of the less 
fashionable boulevards : 


“Dansons la ronde 
Des marmites de Paris, 

Oh4 ! les souris ! 

Les rongeuses de monde ! 
Faisons sauter avec nous 
Nos miohets et nos marlous. 
Dansons la ronde ! 

Paris est ^ nous ! ” 


With that single exception all was silent. From 
half-past three till four in the morning is the quietest 
period that the City of Pleasure experiences. She is 
dormant only one half-hour in the whole twenty-four. 

Yolande was suspected of being a spy ! The thought 
seemed absolutely absurd. She was Belgian, it was 
true, and there is somehow always a prejudice against 
Belgian women in Paris, due perhaps to the fact that 
although they speak French with an accent, they are 
often perfect linguists. But for Yolande to be actu- 
ally a spy — why, the thing was ridiculous ! 

Arrived at my own rooms, I found Mackenzie, my 
old Scotch manservant, awaiting me. 

“ Mr. Kaye called, sir, half an hour ago,” he said. 
“ He could not wait, for he was leaving Paris.” 

“Leaving Paris?” I echoed, for the ubiquitous 


Two Enigmas 19 

chief of the secret service had only come back from 
Madrid a few hours before. 

“Yes, sir. He left you. a note;” and my well- 
trained man drew a letter from his pocket. He al- 
ways kept my letters upon his person, in order that 
any callers might not pry into them during my ab- 
sence. 

I tore open the note eagerly, and read the few 
scribbled lines. Hext instant the paper almost fell 
from my fingers. I held my breath, scarcely believ- 
ing my own eyes. Yet the writing was plain enough, 
and was as follows : 

“ Within the past hour 1 ha/oe ascertained that 
your friend Yolande de Foville is a secret agent. 
Keep strict watch upon her, I hare left instruc- 
tions that if she leaves Paris she is to l)e followed, 
I go to Berlin at once to make inquiries^ and am 
leaving hy the Jp:30 train this morning, 1 have 
the address you gave^ and the particulars concern- 
ing her. Shall return as soon as possible. 


I crushed the note in my hand, and, walking on 
into my sitting-room, gulped down some brandy. 
Everything had conspired against me. When I had 
given Kaye those details concerning my charming 
little friend three years ago, I had never dreamed that 
he would register them and afterwards use them in an 
endeavour to fasten upon her a charge of being a spy. 
Yet he was actually on his way to Berlin, and any 
attempt upon my part to hinder him would only be 
misconstrued into a treasonable endeavour to shield 
her. 


20 Her Majesty’s Minister 

Upon the table before me stood her photograph in 
a silver frame, looking out at me. I took it up. 
Those eyes were so innocent that I could not bring 
myself to believe that any evil lurked in them. 
Surely she would not attempt to harm me ? Such an 
action was absolutely contrary to any woman’s nature. 

Yolande ! The sound of that name brought back to 
me a sweet, tender memory of the past. I sighed as 
the recollection of that bygone day arose within me, 
and flung myself down into an easy-chair to smoke 
and to think. In the blue ascending rings from my 
cigarette her face seemed to smile at me with those 
red parted lips and merry eyes, clear and azure as a 
child’s. How charming and chic she had once ap- 
peared to me in those days when we had first met — 
in those days before I had known Edith Austin, my 
absent well-beloved ! Her portrait, too, was there — 
the picture of a woman, sweet, tender, grave-faced, of 
similar age, perhaps, but whose peerless beauty was 
typically English and devoid of any artificiality. I 
took it up and touched it reverently with my lips. I 
loved the original of that photograph with all the 
strength of my being, hoping always that some day 
ere long I might ask her to become my wife. 

Some there are who hold the theory that to all 
diplomatists, ambassadors excepted, wives are an un- 
necessary encumbrance. I admit that there is much 
to be said in favour of the celibate state as the ideal 
existence for the secretary or attache, who is bound, 
more or less, to make himself agreeable to the many^ 
cosmopolitan ladies who make up the diplomatic circle, 
and sometimes even to flirt with them, when occasion 
requires. Yet after fifteen years or so beneath the 
shadows of the various thrones of Europe, a man tires 


21 


Two Enigmas 

of the life, and longs for the one sweet woman whom 
he can trust and love. In this I was no exception. I 
loved Edith Austin with all m}^ heart and all my soul ; 
and she, I felt assured, reciprocated my affection. 

It is part of the diplomatist’s creed to be on good 
terms with all and sundry of the feminine butterflies 
who hover about the embassies, no matter what their 
age or nationality. Hence it was that five years ago, 
while stationed at Brussels, I had become attracted 
by Yolande de Foville. Once, long before I met 
Edith, I fancied myself in love with her. Her father, 
Count de Eoville, was aide-de-camp to King Leopold, 
and with her mother she moved in the best society in 
Paris and Brussels. On several occasions I had been 
invited for the boar-hunting at the great gloomy old 
chateau at Houffalize, in the Ardennes forest, where 
the powerful de Eovilles had been seigneurs through 
five centuries. 

It was a dull, snowbound, dreary place in winter, 
bare and chill, furnished in ancient style, and situated 
thirty miles from the nearest railway, in the midst of 
a fiat forest country. It was, therefore, not surprising 
that on the death of the Count, Yolande and her 
mother should prefer to leave Belgium and travel in 
England and Italy, spending the winter at Kome or 
at Monte Carlo, the spring in Paris, and summer in 
one or other of the fashionable French watering- 
places. During three years we had been excellent 
friends, and after I had been promoted from Brussels 
^0 the Embassy in Kome, she came with her mother 
and spent the spring in the Eternal City, with the re- 
sult that our firm friendship became even firmer. I 
am fain to admit that our flirtation was of the kind 
called desperate, and that it had ended in love. 


22 Her Majesty’s Minister 

And a week ago she had suddenly arrived in Paris 
at the smart little flat in the Rue de Courcelles, which 
her mother had possessed for years, but now so sel- 
dom occupied. Her arrival was unexpected, and I 
had only known of it from Giraud, the military attache 
at the Belgian Legation, a friend of my Brussels days, 
whom I met in the Cafe de Paris one evening after 
the opera, and who had said suddenly : 

“ Do you, my dear Ingram, know that a little friend 
of yours has arrived in Paris ? ” 

“ Who ? ” I inquired eagerly. 

“Yolande,” was the response. “You used to be 
her cavalier in Brussels in the old days. Have you 
forgotten her ? ” 

His announcement surprised me. Since my friend- 
ship with Edith had grown to be a grand passion, I 
had exchanged no correspondence with Yolande. 
Indeed, the last I had heard of her was that she and 
the Countess were at Cairo spending the winter. 

To tell the truth I was rather glad that she had not 
sought me out, for I had no wish to renew her ac- 
quaintance, now that I had found a woman in Eng- 
land whom I meant to try to win for my wife. Yet 
as I looked back at the past through the haze of my 
cigarette-smoke I was compelled to admit that I had 
spent some charming hours by her side, dancing at 
those brilliant balls in Brussels or driving in that 
pretty wood so beloved of the Bruxellois, the Bois de 
la Cambre. Many were the incidents that came back 
to me as I sat there pondering. Nevertheless, in the 
storehouse of memory I found nothing half sweet 
enough to tempt me from my love for Edith. 

The denunciation of the pretty Yolande as a spy 
staggered belief; yet the Chief himself, as well as 


Two Enigmas 23 

Kaye, was convinced, and the latter was already on 
his way to the north to prosecute inquiries. 

What, I wondered, had really aroused their sus- . 
picions ? As His Excellency had not seen Kaye since 
his return from Madrid, they could not have ex- 
changed views. It seemed my duty to call and see 
her, to renew the acquaintance that I so strongly de- 
sired to end, and, indeed, to continue the flirtation of 
bygone days with a view to discovering the truth. 
Was it fair? Was it just? I hesitated to call upon 
her, half fearful lest her charm and natural chic should 
again attract me towards her. Nevertheless, it was 
my duty, as servant of my Sovereign, to attempt to 
discover England’s secret enemies. 


CHAPTEE III 


YOLANDE 

The remainder of that night I spent in restless agi- 
tation, and at the Embassy early next morning showed 
His Excellency the note that Kaye had left for me. 

“You must see her, Ingram,” he said briefly. 
“ You must obtain her secret from her.” 

“ But I cannot believe that she is a secret agent ! ” 
I declared. “We were friends, and she surelj^ would 
not seek to injure me ? ” 

“Trust nobody, my dear Ingram,” answered the 
grave-eyed old man. “You know how unreliable 
women are where diplomacy is concerned. Eemem- 
ber the incident of the Princess Ghelarducci in 
Eome.” 

My lips compressed themselves. He referred to a 
matter which, for me, was anything but a pleasant 
recollection. The Princess, after learning our inten- 
tions regarding Abyssinia, had openly betrayed us; 
and I had very foolishly thought her my friend. 

“I shall call on her this afternoon,” I answered 
briefly. “ The worst of it is that my action will lead 
her to think that I desire to renew the acquaintance.” 

“ H’m, I see,” observed His Excellency quickly, for 
his shrewdness had detected the truth. “You were 
once in love with her — eh ? ” 

I nodded. 

“ Then don’t allow her to think that your love has 
84 


Yolande 


25 

cooled,” he urged. “ Act diplomatically in this mat- 
ter, and strive to get at the truth.” 

“ And deceive her ? ” 

“ Deception is permissible if she is a spy.” 

“ But she is not a spy,” I declared quickly. 

“ That remains to be seen ! ” he snapped. He then 
turned on his heel and passed into an adjoining 
room. 

At three o’clock I presented my card at the flat in 
the Eue de Courcelles, and was admitted to a cosy lit- 
tle salon, where the persiennes were closed to keep 
out the blazing July sun, and the subdued light was 
welcome after the glare of the streets. Scarcely, 
however, had my eyes become accustomed to the semi- 
darkness, when the door suddenly opened, and I found 
myself face to face with the woman I had loved a few 
years ago. 

‘‘ Gerald ! You ! ” she cried in English, with that 
pretty accent which had always struck me as so 
charming. 

Our hands clasped. I looked into her face and saw 
that in the two years which had elapsed she had 
grown even more beautiful. In a cool white dress of 
soft, clinging muslin, which, although simply made, 
bore the unmistakable stamp of a couturier e of the 
first order, she stood before me, my hand in hers, in 
silence. 

“ So you have come to me ? ” she said in a strained 
voice. ‘‘ You have come, at last ? ” 

“You did not let me know you were in Paris,” I 
protested. 

“ Giraud told you four days ago,” she responded, 
“ and you could not spare a single half-hour for me 
until to-day ! ” she added in a tone of reproach. “ Be- 


26 Her Majesty’s Minister 

sides, I wrote to you from Cairo, and you never re- 
plied.” 

“Forgive me,” I urged — “forgive me, Yolande. It 
is really my fault.” 

“ Because you have forgotten me,” she said huskily. 
“ Here, in Paris, you have so many distractions that 
memories of our old days in Brussels and at Houffalize 
have all been swept away. Come, admit that what I 
say is the truth.” 

“ I shall admit nothing of the kind, Yolande,” I an- 
swered, with diplomatic caution. “ I only admit my 
surprise at finding you here in July. Why, there is 
nobody here except our unfortunate selves at the 
embassies. The boulevards are given over to the 
perspiring British tourist in knickerbockers and the 
usual week-end trippers who ‘ do ’ the city in a char-a- 
banc.” 

She laughed for the first time, and seated herself 
upon a large settee covered with yellow silk, motion- 
ing me to a chair near her. 

“ It is true,” she said. “ Paris is not at all pleasant 
just now. We are only here for frocks. In a week 
we go to Marienbad. And you — how are you ? ” and 
she surveyed me with her head held slightly aside in 
that piquante manner I knew so well. 

“ The same,” I laughed — “ ever the same.” 

“Not the same to me,” she hastened to protest. 

“ I might make a similar charge against yourself,” 
I said. “ Kemember, you did not tell me you were in 
Paris.” 

“Because I thought you would know it quickly 
enough. I wanted, if possible, to meet you acci- 
dentally and surprise you. I went to the ball at the 
German Embassy, but you were not there,” 


Yolande 


27 

“ I was in London,” I explained briefly, my thoughts 
reverting to the allegation against her and the unhesi- 
tating action of the wary Kaye in travelling direct to 
Berlin. 

If there was any man in Europe who could clear up 
a mystery it was the indefatigable chief of the British 
secret service. He lived in Paris ostensibly as an 
English lawyer, with ofiices in the Boulevard des 
Italiens, next the Cafe Americain. Hence his sudden 
journeys hither and thither were believed to be under- 
taken in the interests of various clients. But although 
he had an Irish solicitor, O’Brien by name, to attend 
to the inquiries of any chance clients, the amount of 
legal business carried on in those offices was really 
nil. The place was, in fact, the headquarters of the 
British secret service on the Continent. 

“I, too, was in England a year ago,” she said. 
“We were invited to a house-party up in Scotland. 
Mother was bored, but I had great fun. An English 
home seems somehow so much jollier than the houses 
where one visits in any other country. You know 
how I love the English ! ” 

“ Is that meant as a compliment ? ” I laughed. 

“Of course,” she answered. “But English diplo- 
matists are just as grave as those of any other nation. 
Your people are always full of all sorts of horrid 
secrets and things.” 

She referred to the old days in Brussels, for she 
knew well the difficulties under which our diplomacy 
had been conducted there, owing to the eternal ques- 
tions involving Egypt and the Congo. 

But I laughed lightly. I did not intend that she 
should suspect the real motive of my call. Evidently 
she knew nothing of my love for Edith Austin, or she 


28 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

would have referred to it. Fortunately I had been 
able to keep it a secret from all. 

“ And you are actually leaving us in a week ? ” I 
observed, for want of something else to say. “ I hear 
that Marienbad is crowded this season ? ” 

‘‘We are going to visit my uncle, Prince Stolberg, 
who has a villa there.” 

Then I asked her of our mutual friends in Brussels, 
and she in return retailed to me all the latest gossip 
concerning them. As she sat there in the subdued 
light, her white dress, relieved by a touch of turquoise 
at the wrists and waist, she presented a picture grace- 
ful, delicate, and altogether charming. I reasoned 
with myself as she went on chattering. No ; it was 
not surprising that I had once fallen in love with her. 
She was more French than Belgian, for the days of 
her girlhood had been passed mostly in France ; her 
Christian name was French, and in manner she pos- 
sessed all that smartness and chic peculiar to the 
Parisienne. Mentally I compared her with Edith, but 
next instant- laughed within myself. Such comparison 
was impossible. Their styles were as different as were 
their nationalities. Beside Edith, my well-beloved, 
the beauty of this fair-haired, gesticulating girl paled 
entirely, and became insipid. The Englishwoman who 
held me beneath the spell of her soft and truthful eyes 
was without a peer. 

Still, Yolande amused me with her chatter. The 
reader will forgive me this admission, for in calling 
there I was only acting a part. I was endeavouring 
in the interests of my country to find out whether 
there was any truth in the allegation recently made 
against her by my friend. Of a sudden a thought 
crossed my mind, and I asked ; 


Yolande 


29 

“ Have you met many acquaintances since you’ve 
been in Paris ? ” 

“ Only Hartmann and some of the people at the 
Legation,” she responded. ‘‘We are just going to 
five o’clock with the Princess Olsoufieff this after^ 
noon.” 

“ There is an old friend of yours just arrived,” I 
said. “ Have you met him ? ” 

“ An old friend ? ” she echoed in surprise. “ Man 
or woman ? ” 

“ A man,” I answered. “ Kodolphe Wolf.” 

“Kodolphe Wolf!” she gasped, starting up, the 
colour dying from her lips in an instant. “ Kodolphe 
Wolf in Paris — impossible 1 ” 

“ He was at the Baroness de Chalencon’s last night,” 
I said quite calmly, watching her face the while. 

Her sudden fear and surprise made plain a fact of 
which I had not before been aware — namely, that 
there was something more than a casual link between 
them. Years ago, when in Brussels, I had suspected 
Wolf of being a secret agent, and the fact that she was 
closely acquainted with him appeared to prove that 
my Chief’s suspicion was not unfounded. 

She had risen. Her hands were trembling, and al- 
though she strove desperately to betray to me no out- 
ward sign of agitation, she was compelled to support 
herself by clutching the small table at her side. Her 
countenance was blanched to the lips. She presented 
the appearance of one haunted by some terrible dread. 

“ Wolf ! ” she gasped again, as though speaking to 
herself. Then, turning to me, she stretched forth both 
her hands, and, looking earnestly into my eyes, cried 
in wild desperation : “ Gerald, save me ! For the 

sake of our love of the old days, save me ! ” 


30 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

“From what?” I cried, jumping up and catching 
her by both hands. “ Tell me, Yolande. If I can 
assist you I certainly will. Why are you so dis- 
tressed ? ” 

She was silent, with one trembling hand pressed 
upon her heart, as though to stay its wild, tumultuous 
beating. 

“Ho,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “it is useless — 
all useless.” 

“ But if you are in distress I can surely help you,” 
I said. 

“ Alas ! you cannot,” she answered in despair. 
“You do not know — ^you cannot understand.” 

“ Why not tell me ? Confide in me,” I urged. 

“ Ho,” she replied. “ I am very foolish — forgive 
me ; ” and she tried to smile. 

“The news that Wolf is here has upset you,” I said. 
“Why?” 

“ He has escaped.” 

“ From where ? ” 

“ From prison.” 

I was silent. I knew not what to say. This dec- 
laration of hers was strange. It was startling news 
to me that Kodolphe Wolf had been in prison. 

“ You have asked me to save you,” I said, reverting 
to her wild supplication. “I will do so willingly if 
you only tell me how.” 

“ It is impossible,” she said in a broken voice, shak- 
ing her head mournfully. “ By what you have told 
me I am forewarned.” 

A deep sigh escaped her, and I saw that her fingers 
worked restlessly in the palms of her hands. She was 
desperate. 

“ Can I do absolutely nothing ? ” I asked in a tone 


Yolande 


31 

of sympathy, placing my hand tenderly upon her 
shoulder. 

“ Nothing,” she answered in a hoarse whisper. ‘‘ I 
am not fit to talk further. Let us say good-bye.” 

“ Then you prefer that I should leave you ? ” 

“Yes,” she said, holding out her hand. “Forgive 
me for this, but I want to go to my own room to 
think. What you have told me has upset me.” 

“ Tell me plainly — you fear that man ? ” 

She nodded in the affirmative. 

“ And you will not allow me either to advise or to 
assist you ? ” 

“ No,” she said hoarsely. “ Go, Gerald. Leave me ! 
When we meet again I shall be calmer than I am 
now.” 

Her face was deathly pale ; her eyes had a distinct 
look of terror in them. 

“Very well,” I answered when again she had urged 
me to leave her; “if you insist, I will go. But re- 
member that if I can be of service, Yolande, I am 
ready at once to render you assistance. Good-bye,” 
and I pressed her hand in sympathy. 

She burst into tears. 

“ Farewell,” she faltered. 

Then I turned, and, bowing, went forth into the 
glaring sunshine of the boulevard. 

She had virtually admitted a close acquaintance 
with a man upon whom distinct suspicion rested, and 
her actions had been those of a guilty woman. My 
thoughts Avere full of that intervieAV and its painful 
ending as I walked back towards the Embassy. 


CHAPTER lY 


A CURIOUS STORY 

There was war in the air. At the Embassy we 
could not conceal from ourselves the seriousness of 
the situation. From hour to hour we were living in 
dread lest diplomatic negotiation should be broken 
off with the French Republic. We had discovered 
what seemed very much like a conspiracy against 
England, and as an energetic protest it appeared quite 
possible that the Marquess of Malvern might order 
my Chief to leave Paris. This would mean a rupture 
of diplomatic relations, and in all probability war. 

Hever in the history of modern Europe had there 
been a day so critical as that blazing, well-remem- 
bered one in mid- July. There were ugly rumours of 
complications in the Transvaal. The fate of certain 
nations trembled in the balance. In every capital 
diplomatists were active, some striving to force war, 
others endeavouring to prevent it. A diplomatist’s 
life is assuredly no sinecure. The British public, as I 
have said before, little dreams of the constant anx- 
iety and terrible tension which are parts of the daily 
life of its faithful servants abroad. 

On my return to the Embassy I found that some 
important despatches had been brought from London 
by Anderson, the foreign service messenger. 

He was sitting in my room smoking a cigarette, and 
awaiting me in order to obtain the receipt for his 
33 


A Curious Story 33 

despatch-box. A tall, round-faced, merry man of 
middle age, he was an especial favourite in all the 
embassies as far as Teheran. A thorough cosmopoli- 
tan and man of the world, he had resigned his com- 
mission in the Scots Greys to become one of that 
half-dozen of the greyhounds of Europe known as 
Queen’s messengers. 

“Well, Anderson,” I exclaimed, shaking his hand 
on entering, “what’s the news from Downing 
Street ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing very fresh,” he laughed, sinking back 
in his chair again, and passing me over the receipt for 
signature. “ Old Tuite, of the Treaty Department, 
has retired on his pension this week. That’s about all 
that’s new. The Chief, however, seems busy. I’m 
loaded with despatches.” 

“ Where for ? ” 

“ Vienna and Constantinople. I leave by the Orient 
express in an hour’s time,” he answered, with a glance 
at his watch. 

“Then you’re getting over a little ground just 
now ? ” I laughed. 

“A little ground!” he echoed. “Well, I’ve been 
two trips to Petersburg this month, twice here to 
Paris, and once to Vienna. I’ve only slept one night 
in London since the 1st.” 

“You’re a bit sick of it, I should think,” I observed, 
looking at the round face lit up by its pair of merry 
grey eyes. He was an easy-going fellow ; his good- 
humour never seemed ruffled. 

“ Oh, it agrees with me,” he laughed lightly. “ I 
don’t care as long as I get the monthly run to Tehe- 
ran now and then. That’s a bit of a change, you 
know, after these everlasting railways, with their 


34 Her Majesty’s Minister 

stuffy sleeping-cars and abominable arrangements for 
giving a man indigestion.” 

I examined the box to see that the seals affixed in 
Downing Street were intact, then signed the receipt 
and handed it back to him. 

Of the corps of Queen’s messengers — nicknamed 
“ the greyhounds ” because of the badge which each 
wears suspended round his neck and concealed beneath 
his cravat, a silver greyhound surmounted by the 
Koyal arms — Captain Jack Anderson was the most 
popular. A welcome guest at every embassy or lega- 
tion, he was on friendly terms with the whole staff, 
from the Ambassador himself down to the hall-porter, 
and he carried the gossip of the embassies to and fro 
across Europe. From him we all gathered news of 
our old colleagues in other capitals — of their joys and 
their sorrows, their difficulties and their junketings. 
His baggage being by international courtesy free from 
Customs’ examination, he ofttimes carried with him a 
new frock for an ambassador’s wife or daughter — a 
service which always put him high in the good graces 
of the feminine portion of the diplomatic circle. 

“ Kaye seems bobbing about pretty much,” he ob- 
served, handing me his cigarette-case. Anderson’s 
cigarettes were well known for their excellence, for 
he purchased them at a shop in Petersburg, and often 
distributed a box in one or other of the embassies. 
“ I met him a week ago on board the Calais boat, and 
two days later I came across him in the buffet down 
at Bale. He was, however, as close as an oyster.” 

“ Of course. It isn’t likely that he’d talk very 
much,” I remarked. “His profession is to know 
everything, and at the same time to affect ignorance. 
He went to Berlin last night.” 


A Curious Story 35 

“We had breakfast together in the early morning 
at Bale, and he questioned me closely about a friend 
of yours.” 

“ Who ? ” 

“ A lady — Mademoiselle de Foville. You remember 
her in Brussels, don’t you ? ” 

“Mademoiselle de Foville ! ” I echoed. The denun- 
ciation of her as a secret agent instantly flashed 
through my mind. 

“Yes, you were extremely friendly with her in 
Brussels,” he went on. “Don’t you recollect that 
you introduced me to her one evening at an al fresco 
concert in the Wauxhall Gardens, where we sat to- 
gether for quite a long time chatting ? ” 

“ I remember distinctly,” I responded. Every de- 
tail of that balmy summer night in those gaily illu- 
minated gardens came back to me in that moment. I 
loved Yolande in those long-past days. “And what 
did Kaye want to know regarding her ? ” 

“ He asked me whether I had ever met her, and I 
told him that you had once introduced us.” 

“Well?” 

“ Oh, nothing much else. He remarked how very 
charming she was — a verdict in which we both agreed. 
Have you seen her lately ? ” 

I hesitated for a moment. 

“ Yes, she’s here, in Paris.” 

He bent forward quickly, regarding me curiously. 

“ That’s strange. How long has she been here ? ” 
he inquired with a rather puzzled look. 

“ Only a few days. I did not know that she was 
here till yesterday,” I replied with affected careless- 
ness. 

“ Ah, I thought she could not have been here long.” 


Her Majesty’s Minister 


36 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Because only a week ago she travelled in the same 
compartment as myself between Berlin and Cologne.” 

“ And did you claim acquaintance with her ? ” I in- 
quired quickly. 

“JS'o. She had a companion with her — a pimply- 
faced, ugly Johnnie, whom I took to be a German. 
They spoke in German all the time.” 

Could it be, I wondered, that Yolande and her com- 
panion had travelled with Anderson with some evil 
intent ? 

“ Didn’t you speak to them ? ” 

“ The man tried to open a conversation with me, 
but I pretended to be Italian, without any knowledge 
of German or English, so he didn’t get very far. To 
affect Italian is generally a sure game, for so few peo- 
ple speak it in comparison with those who know other 
Continental languages.” 

“ You wanted to overhear their conversation — eh ? ” 

‘‘ I wanted to ascertain what their game was,” an- 
swered the Queen’s messenger. “ They eyed my de- 
spatch-box very curiously ; and it was to me an ex- 
tremely suspicious circumstance that although they 
joined the train at Berlin they did not enter my com- 
partment until an hour later, when the express stopped 
to change engines.” 

‘‘You were alone?” 

“Yes, and it was at night,” he answered, adding : 
“To me it was also a curious circumstance that only 
three days afterwards Kaye should become so deeply 
interested in her. I had never seen her from that 
night in Brussels until we had met in the train, but 
I’ve a good memory for faces. I can swear I was not 
mistaken.” 


37 


A Curious Story 

“You speak as though you suspected her,” I said, 
looking straight into his ruddy countenance, which 
had grown unusually serious while we had been 
speaking. 

“Well, to tell the truth, I did suspect her,” he re- 
sponded. “I didn’t half like the look of the man. 
He was well-dressed, but as you know I’ve always a 
sharp eye where my fellow-travellers are concerned, 
and I felt certain that there was something shady 
about him. They shifted about all night, and were 
constantly watching to see whether I had gone to 
sleep. But all their watching was without reward. 
Jack Anderson never sleeps while he has a crossed 
despatch upon him ; ” and he blew a cloud of smoke 
upward from his lips. 

“ But surely you don’t think that their intention was 
to steal your despatches ? ” I cried. 

“ They were welcome to the whole collection in the 
box,’«’ he laughed. “ They were only consular reports 
and necessary evils of that sort. What they wanted 
was the crossed despatch from Berlin that I had in my 
belt next my skin.” 

“ They made no attempt to get at it ? ” 

“ Yes, they did. That’s just where my suspicion 
was proved.” 

“How?” I asked breathlessly, bending eagerly 
towards him. 

“Well, as you know, I always carry among my 
wraps a little cushion covered with black satin. Ex- 
perience has taught me that that cushion has saved 
me many an aching head and stiff neck when on long 
journeys. So I placed it behind my head, and through 
the night read a novel by the dim, uncertain light. 
About two o’clock in the morning we ran into Han- 


38 Her Majesty’s Minister 

over, and I got out to get a drink. When I returned, 
however, and placed the cushion behind my head, I 
felt a slight dampness upon it. In an instant suspicion 
seized me. Some liquid had been sprinkled upon it in 
my absence. My two fellow-travellers, wrapped in 
their rugs, were apparently sleeping. At once I re- 
solved to act with caution, and, turning my cheek 
towards the pillow, smelt it. There was a curious 
odour, sweet and subtle, like some new perfume. I 
had suspected chloroform, but it was certainly not 
that. Yet almost the instant after I had inhaled it a 
curious and unaccountable drowsiness seized me. 
Then I knew the truth. They had plotted to render 
me insensible and afterwards steal the despatch! I 
struggled against this feeling of weariness, and, rising 
to my feet, buttoned my overcoat as though I were 
chilly. This action allowed the cushion to fall away 
from my head, and, again re-seating myself, I made a 
feint of being interested in my book ; but in reality 
my head was a whirl, and in the pocket of my ulster I 
had my hand upon my revolver, ready to use it should 
that pimply-faced ruffian attempt violence. The pair 
commenced to shift about uneasily in their seats, and 
I could see that their failure had considerably discon- 
certed them.” 

j “You gave them no idea that you had discovered 
their intentions ? ” 

“ ISTone whatever. I was anxious to see how they 
Avould act after being foiled.” 

“ Well, what did they do ? ” 

“ They exchanged glances of annoyance, but spoke 
no word. They were silent for over an hour, during 
Avhich time it occurred to me to move the cushion 
farther from me, in case the evaporation of the mys- 


A Curious Story 39 

terious liquid should cause insensibility. I was de- 
termined that your pretty little friend’s companion 
should be the first to be thus affected. The feeling of 
drowsiness, however, wore off, and at Cologne the 
pair, after chatting in German regarding the train to 
Yenlo, bustled about hastily and descended. They 
had no baggage, and went into the buffet to break- 
fast.” 

“ You, of course, continued your journey ? ” 

“Yes, to Ostend and London.” 

“ It seems as though you had rather a narrow es- 
cape,” I observed thoughtfully. 

“ It was a daring attempt to get at that despatch,” 
he remarked with some warmth. “ Depend upon it, 
my dear Ingram, that woman is a spy. I know she’s 
a friend of yours, but I can’t help saying just what I 
think.” 

“ But I can’t believe it ! ” I declared. “ Indeed, I 
won’t believe it ! ” I added vehemently. 

“ As you like,” he said coldly, with a slight shrug 
of his broad shoulders. “ I’ve told you the plain truth 
as to what occurred.” 

“ She’s wealthy, and of one of the best families in 
Belgium. There is no necessity whatever for her to 
be in the pay of any foreign Government,” I protested. 

“We have nothing to do with her reasons,” he said. 
“ All we know is that she and her companion tried to 
drug me in order to get at the despatch.” 

“ You have no idea, I suppose, of the contents of the 
despatch in question ? ” I inquired. 

“ ISTone, except that when I gave it into the Chief’s 
own hands in his private room at Downing Street, he 
appeared to be very much surprised by its contents, 
and at once wrote a reply, with which I posted back 


40 Her Majesty’s Minister 

to Berlin by the same night’s mail from Charing 
Cross.” 

“ Then it was upon a matter of importance ? ” 

I judged it to be of extreme importance. Yolande 
de Foville was evidently well aware that I had the 
despatch in my belt.” 

“ You had never before seen this man who accom- 
panied her ? ” 

“ l^ever. But now he has made one attempt it is 
quite probable he may make another. I’m on the 
lookout for him again.” 

“ And the cushion ? Have you discovered what they 
placed upon it ? ” 

“ I left it in London with Dr. Bond, the analyst, 
at Somerset House. He’s trying to discover the liquid 
used. I hope he will be successful, for the stuff was 
so potent that I have no desire for it again to be 
sprinkled upon my belongings.” 

They were at least ingenius,” I exclaimed, amazed 
at this extraordinary story, which seemed to prove so 
conclusively the truth of Kaye’s denunciation. 

Yet I could not believe that Yolande, my charming 
little friend, in whom I had in the old days reposed so 
many confidences, and by whose side I had lingered 
through many idle hours in the Bois or in that almost 
endless forest around her feudal home, was actually a 
spy. The suggestion seemed too absurd. Neverthe- 
less, Kaye was not a man to make unfounded charges, 
nor was Anderson given to relating that which was 
untrue. Truth to tell, this story of his held me abso- 
lutely dumbfounded. I recollected my conversation 
with her an hour ago, and the strange effect my an- 
nouncement that Wolf was in Paris had made upon 
her. She had implored me to save her. Why ? 


4 


A Curious Story 

A silence fell between us. I was preoccupied by 
my own thoughts. But a few moments later the 
Queen’s messenger again glanced at his watch, and, 
rising, said : 

“ I must be off, or I shan’t catch the Orient. Any 
message. for them down at Constantinople ?” 

“No,” I responded, gripping his strong hand in 
farewell. “ Take care of yourself, and don’t let any 
of those confounded spies get at you again.” 

“ Trust me, my dear fellow,” he laughed, and light- 
ing another cigarette he went forth on his long jour- 
ney to the East as airily as though he were strolling 
down to get a cocktail at Henry’s. 

When he had gone I sat for a long time thinking. 
A remembrance of the mad love of those days that 
had gone came back to me, sweet, charming memo- 
ries of that half-forgotten time when Yolande was my 
ideal, and when her lips met mine in tender, passion- 
ate carresses. Ah ! how fondly I had loved her in 
those days ! But with an effort I at last arose, and, 
casting all those reflections behind me with a sigh, 
broke the seals of the despatch-box, and, seating my- 
self at the big writing-table, commenced to examine 
them with a view to ascertaining their contents. 

There were several important papers, and very soon 
I became absorbed in them. Nearly an hour later 
there came a sudden rap at the door, and one of the 
English footmen entered, saying : 

“ There is a man below, sir, who wishes to see you 
at once on important business. He says he is valet- 
de-chambre of the Countess de Eoville.” 

“ Of the Countess de Eoville ! ” I echoed, much sur- 
prised. 

I at once ordered him to be shown upstairs, and a 


42 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

few moments later a tall, thin-faced, clean-shaven 
Frenchman entered. 

“ M’sieur Ingram?” he inquired breathlessly in 
French, evidently in a state of great agitation. 

“ Yes,” I said. “ What is your message ? ” 

“ I have been sent by Madame la Comtesse to ask 
you to be good enough to come to her at once. A 
most distressing incident has occurred.” 

“ What has occurred ? ” I demanded quickly. 

“ Ah, m’sieur, it is terrible ! ” he cried with much 
Gallic gesticulation. “ Poor Mademoiselle Yolande ! 
She is asking to see you. She says she must speak 
with you, m’sieur.” 

“With me?” 

“ Yes, m’sieur. Do not let us lose a single instant, 
or it may be too late. Ah ! my poor young mistress ! 
Poor mademoiselle ! it is terrible — terrible ! ” 


CHAPTEE Y 


LA COMTESSE 

The Countess, a handsome, well-preserved woman 
of middle age, slightly inclined to embonpoint, met 
me on the threshold, and in silence grasped my hand. 
From the window she had apparently watched me 
alight from the fiacre, and had rushed forth to meet 
me. 

That something unusual had occurred was plain 
from the paleness of her countenance and the look of 
despair in her eyes. We had been excellent friends 
in Brussels in bygone days, for she had favoured my 
suit and had constantly invited me to her pretty home 
in the Boulevard de Waterloo or to the great old 
chateau in the Ardennes. A glance was suflicient to 
show me that she had grown considerably older, and 
that her face although it still bore distinct traces of a 
faded beauty, was now worn and haggard. She was 
essentially a grande dame of the old regime, now fast 
disappearing from our ken, but at no time could she 
be considered a great hostess. She was somewhat 
intransigeante, a woman of strong prejudices, usually 
well justified, and incapable of pretence or shams. 
But the law of kindliness was ever on her tongue, and 
she contented herself with giving those of whom she 
disapproved a wide berth. She was dressed plainly 
in black, with a single wisp of lace at the throat — a 
costume unusual for her. In Brussels her handsome 
43 


44 Her Majesty’s Minister 

toilettes, obtained from Paris, had always been ad- 
mired. Although matronly, like the majority of Bel- 
gian women, she was extremely chic, with an almost 
girlish waist, and at whatever hour one called one al- 
Avays found her dressed with extreme taste and ele- 
gance. I must, however, admit that her appearance 
surprised me. Her hair had grown greyer, and she 
seemed as though utterly negligent of her personal 
appearance. 

“ Madame ! ” I exclaimed in alarm as our hands 
met, “ tell me what has occurred.” 

“ Ah, m’sieur,” she cried in French, “ I am in de- 
spair, and have sent for you! You can help me — if 
you will.” 

“ In what manner ? ” I inquired breathlessly. 

“ Yolande ! ” she gasped, in a choking voice. 

‘‘Yolande!” I echoed. “What has happened to 
her ? Your man will tell me nothing.” 

“He has orders to say nothing,” she explained, 
leading the way into the elegant salon. “NoAvtell 
me,” she said, looking at me very earnestly, “ I am 
in sheer desperation, as you may see, or I Avould not 
presume to question you. Will you forgive me if 
I do?” 

“ Most certainly,” I responded. 

“ Then before we go further I will put my question 
to you,” she said in a strange voice. “ Do you love 
Yolande?” 

Such direct inquiry certainly took me by complete 
surprise. I stood looking at her for a few seconds ab- 
solutely open-mouthed. 

“ Why ask me that ? ” I inquired, puzzled. “ Tell 
me what has happened to her.” 

“ I can tell you nothing until you have answered 


La Comtesse 


45 

my question,” she replied quite calmly. I saw from 
her countenance that she was desperate. 

“ I think, madame, that when we were together in 
Brussels my actions must have betrayed to you — a 
woman — the state of my heart towards your daugh- 
ter,” I said. I do not seek to deny that at that time 
I loved her more fondly than I could ever love again, 
and ” 

“ Then you do not love her still ? ” she cried, inter- 
rupting me. 

“ Allow me to conclude,” I went on, speaking quite 
calmly, for I saw in this curious question of hers some 
mysterious motive. “ I loved her while in Brussels, 
and for two years hoped to make her my wife.” 

“ And then you grew tired of her ? ” the Countess 
asked, in a tone that was almost a sneer in itself. “ It 
is always the same with you diplomatists. The women 
of every capital amuse you, but on your promotion you 
bow your adieux and seek fresh fields to conquer.” 

‘‘ I think you misjudge me,” I protested, rather an- 
noyed at her words. “I loved Yolande. When I 
admit this, I also admit that, like other men whose 
calling it is to lounge in the principal salons of Europe, 
I had not escaped the fascination exercised by other 
eyes than hers. But to me she was all the world. 
Surely, madame, you remember the days at Houffa- 
lize ? You cannot disguise from yourself that I really 
loved her then ? ” 

“ But all that is of the past,” she said seriously, her 
white hands clasped before her. “Briefly, you no 
longer entertain any love for her. Is not that so ? ” 

I hesitated. My position was a difiicult one. I was 
a diplomatist, and could speak untruths artistically 
when occasion required, but she had cornered me, 


46 Her Majesty’s Minister 

‘‘Madame has guessed the truth,” I answered at 
last. 

“Ah!” she cried hoarsely, “I thought as much. 
You have found some other woman whom you pre- 
fer?” 

I nodded assent. It was useless to lead her to 
believe what was not the truth. Yolande was of 
course charming in many ways ; but when I thought 
of Edith I saw that comparison was impossible. 

“ And you have no further thought of her ? ” she 
asked. 

“ As far as marriage is concerned, no,” I responded. 
“ E’evertheless, I still regard her as an intimate 
friend. I was here only two or three hours ago chat- 
ting with her.” 

“ You ! ” she cried, glaring at me strangely. “ You 
were here — to-day ? ” 

“ Yes,” I replied. “ I thought she would certainly 
tell you of my visit.” 

“ She told me nothing. I was quite unaware of it. 
I was out, and the servants told me that a gentleman 
had called in my absence.” 

“ I gave a card,” I replied. “ It is no doubt in the 
hall.” 

“Ho, it is not. It has been destroyed.” 

“Why ?” I asked. 

“For some mysterious reason known to Yolande.” 
Then, turning quickly again to me, she placed her 
hand upon my arm in deep earnestness, saying : 
“ Tell me, is your love for her absolutely and entirely 
dead — so dead that you would not care to perform her 
a service ? ” 

Anderson’s strange and startling story flashed 
through my mind. I made no reply. 


La Comtesse 


47 

“ Eemember the affection you once bore her,” she 
urged. ‘‘I am a woman, m’sieur, and I presume to 
remind you of it.” 

I needed no reminder. The recollection of those 
sweet idyllic days was still fresh as ever in my 
memory. Ah ! in those brief sunny hours I had fondly 
believed that our love would last always. It is ever 
the same. Youth is ever foolish. 

“ I should have loved her now,” I answered at last, 
‘‘ were it not for one fact.” 

There was a mystery which had ended our love, 
and I saw now an opportunity of clearing it up. 

“ To what fact do you refer ? ” 

“ To the reason of our parting.” 

“ The reason ! ” echoed the Countess. “ I have no 
idea whatever of the reason. What was it ? ” 

I held my breath. Would it be just to tell her the 
truth ? I wondered. I reflected for a moment, then 
in a calm voice answered : 

“Because I discovered that her heart was not 
wholly mine.” 

She regarded me with undisguised amazement. 

“ Do you mean that Yolande had another lover ? ” 

“ ISTo ! ” I cried with sudden resolve. “ This con- 
versation is not fair to her. It is all finished. She 
has forgotten, and we are both happy.” 

“ Happy ! ” cried the Countess hoarsely. “ You 
are, alas! mistaken. Poor Yolande has been the most 
unhappy girl in all the world. She has never ceased to 
think of you.” 

“ Then I regret, madame,” I responded. 

“If you really regret,” she answered, “ then your 
love for her is not altogether dead.” 

She spoke the truth. At this point I may as well 


48 Her Majesty’s Minister 

confide to you, my reader, the fact that I still regarded 
my charming little friend of those careless days of 
buoyant youth with a feeling very nearly akin to love. 
I recollected the painful circumstances which led to our 
parting. My memory drifted back to that well-re- 
membered, breathless summer’s evening when, while 
walking with her along the white highway near her 
home, I charged her with friendliness towards a man 
whose reputation in Brussels was none of the best ; of 
her tearful protests, of my all-consuming jealousy, of 
her subsequent dignity, and of our parting. After 
that I had applied to the Foreign Oifice to be trans- 
ferred, and a month later found myself in Rome. 

Perhaps, after all, my jealousy might have been 
utterly unfounded. Sometimes I had thought I had 
treated her harshly, for, truth to tell, I had never ob- 
tained absolute proof that this man was more than a 
mere acquaintance. Indeed, I think it was this fact, 
or just a slight twinge of conscience, that caused a 
suspicion of the old love I once bore her to remain 
within me. It was not just to Edith — that I knew; 
yet notwithstanding the denunciations of both Kaye 
and Anderson, I could not altogether crush her from 
my heart. To wholly forget the woman for whom 
one has entertained the grand passion is often most 
difficult, sometimes, indeed, impossible of accomplish- 
ment. Visions of some sweet face with its pouting 
and ready lips will arise, constantly keeping the past 
ever present, and recalling a day one would fain for- 
get. Thus it was with me — just as it has been with 
thousands of others. 

“ Ko,” I admitted truthfully and honestly at last, 
“my love for Yolande is perhaps not altogether 
dead.” 


La Comtesse 


49 


“Then you will render me a service?” she cried 
quickly. “ Say that you will — for her sake ! — for the 
sake of the great love you once bore her ! ” 

“Of what nature is this service you desire?” I 
asked, determined to act with caution, for the start- 
ling stories I had heard had aroused within me con- 
siderable suspicion. 

“ I desire your silence regarding an absolute secret,” 
she answered in a hoarse half- whisper. 

“ What secret ? ” 

“A secret concerning Yolande,” she responded. 
“Will you, for her sake, render us assistance, and 
at the same time preserve absolute secrecy as to what 
you may see or learn here to-day ? ” 

“ I will promise if you wish, madame, that no word 
shall pass my lips,” I said. “ But as to assistance, I 
cannot promise until I am aware of the nature of the 
service demanded of me.” 

“Of course,” she exclaimed, with a faint attempt 
at a smile. My words had apparently reassured her, 
for she instantly became calmer, as though relying 
upon me for help. “ Then as you give me your prom- 
ise upon your honour to say nothing, you shall know 
the truth. Come with me.” 

She led the way down the long corridor, and turn- 
ing to the left suddenly opened the door of a large 
and handsome bedchamber, the wooden sun-blinds of 
which were closed to keep out the crimson glow of the 
sunset. The room was a fine one with big crystal 
mirrors and a shining toilette-service in silver, but 
upon the bed with its yellow silk hangings lay a fe- 
male form fully dressed, but white-faced and motion- 
less. In the dim half-light I could just distinguish the 
features as those of Yolande. 


50 Her Majesty’s Minister 

What has occurred ? ” I cried in a hoarse whisper, 
dashing towards the bedside and bending down to look 
upon the face that had once held me in fascination. 

“We do not know,” answered the trembling woman 
at my side. “ It is all a myster3^” 

I stretched forth my hand and touched her cheek. 
It was icy cold. 

In those few moments my eyes had become accus- 
tomed to the dim light of the darkened room, and I 
detected the change that had taken place in the girl’s 
countenance. Her eyes were closed, her lips blanched, 
her fair hair, escaped from its pins, fell in a sheen of 
gold upon the lace-edged pillow. 

I held my breath. The awful truth was distinctly 
apparent. I placed 1113^ hand upon her heart, the 
bodice of her dress being already unloosened. Then 
a few seconds later I drew back, standing rigid and 
aghast. 

“ Why, she’s dead ! ” I gasped. 

“Yes,” the Countess said, covering her face with 
her hands and bursting into tears. “My poor Yo- 
lande ! she is dead — dead ! ” 

The discovery appalled me. Only a couple of hours 
before we had chatted together, and she seemed in 
the best of health and spirits, just as in the old days, 
until I had made the announcement of Wolf’s presence 
in Paris. The effect of that statement upon her had 
apparently been electrical. Why, I knew not. Had 
she not implored me to save her ? This in itself was 
sufficient to show that she held him in deadly fear. 

Again I bent in order to make further examination, 
but saw the unmistakable mark of death upon her 
countenance. The lower jaw had dropped, the cheeks 
were cold, and the silver hand-mirror which I had 


La Comtesse 


51 

snatched from the table and held at her mouth was 
unclouded. There was no movement — no life. Yo- 
lande, my well-beloved of those long-past days, was 
dead. 

I stood there at the bedside like a man in a dream. 
So swiftly had she been struck down, that the terrible 
truth seemed impossible of realisation. 

The Countess, standing beside me, sobbed bitterly. 
Truly the scene in that darkened chamber was a 
strange and impressive one. Never before in my 
whole life had I been in the presence of the dead. 

‘‘ Yolande — Yolande ! ” I called, touching her cheek 
in an effort to awaken her, for I could not believe that 
she was actually dead. 

But there was no response. Those blanched lips 
and the coldness of those cheeks told their own tale. 
She had passed to that land which lies beyond the 
range of human vision. 

How long I stood there I cannot tell. My thoughts 
were inexpressibly sad ones, and the discovery had 
utterly upset me, so that I scarcely knew what I said 
or did. The blow of thus finding her lifeless crushed 
me. The affair was mysterious, to say the least of it. 
Of a sudden, however, the sobs of the grief-stricken 
Countess aroused me to a sense of my responsibility, 
and taking her hand I led her from the bedside into 
an adjoining room. 

“How has this terrible catastrophe occurred?” I 
demanded of her breathlessly. “ Only two hours ago 
she was well and happy.” 

“ You mean when you saw her ? ” she said. “ What 
was the object of your call ? ” 

“ To see her,” I responded. 

“ And yet you parted ill friends in Brussels ? ” she 


52 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

observed in a tone of distinct suspicion. “ You had 
some motive in calling. What was it ? ” 

I hesitated. I could not tell her that I suspected 
her daughter to be a spy. 

“ In order to assure her of my continued goo 1 
friendship.” 

She smiled, rather superciliously I thought. 

“ But how did the terrible affair occur ? ” 

“We have no idea,” answered the Countess brokenly. 
“She was found lying upon the floor of the salon 
within a quarter of an hour of the departure of her 
visitor, who proved to be 3 ^ourself. Jean, the valet- 
de-chambre, on entering, discovered her lying there, 
quite dead.” 

“Astounding!” I gasped. “She was in perfect 
health when I left her.” 

She shook her head sorrowfully, and her voice, 
choking with grief, declared : 

“ My child has been killed — murdered ! ” 

“ Murdered I Impossible I ” I cried. 

“But she has,” she declared. “I am absolutely 
positive of it ! ” 


CHAPTEK YI 


A PIECE OF PLAIN PAPER 

“What medical examination has been made?” I 
demanded. 

“ JS'one,” responded the Countess. “ My poor child 
is dead, and no doctor can render her assistance. 
Medical aid is unavailing.” 

“ But do you mean to say that on making this dis- 
covery you did not think it necessary to send for a 
doctor ? ” I cried incredulously. 

“ I did not send for one — I sent for you,” was her 
response. 

“ But we must call a doctor at once,” I urged. “ If 
you have suspicion of foul play we should surely know 
if there is any wound, or any injury to account for 
death.” 

“I did not consider it necessary. Ho doctor can 
return her to me,” she wailed. “ I sent for you be- 
cause I believed that you would render me assistance 
in this terrible alfair.” 

“Most certainly I will,” I replied. “But in our 
own interests we must send for a medical man, and if 
it is found to be actually a case of foul play, for the 
police. I’ll send a line to Doctor Deane, an English- 
man whom I know, who is generally called in to see 
anybody at the Embassy who chances to be ill. He 
is a good fellow, and his discretion may be relied 
upon.” 


53 


54 Her Majesty’s Minister 

So saying, I scribbled a line on the back of a card, 
and told the man to take a cab down to the Rue du 
Havre, where the doctor occupied rooms over a 
hosier’s shop a stone’s throw from the bustling Gare 
St. Lazare. 

A very curious mystery was evidently connected 
with this startling discovery, and I was anxious that 
my friend, Dick Deane, one of my old chums of Rugby 
days, should assist me in clearing it up. 

The Countess de Foville, whose calmness had been 
so remarkable while speaking with me before we 
entered the death-chamber, had now given way to a 
flood of emotion. She sank back into her chair, and, 
burying her face in her hands, cried bitterly. 

I tried to obtain some further information from 
her, but all that escaped her was : 

“ My poor Yolande ! My poor daughter ! ” 

Finding that my endeavours to console her were 
futile, I went forth and made inquiries of the three 
frightened maidservants regarding what had occurred. 

One of them, a dark-eyed Frenchwoman in frilled 
cap, whom I had seen on my previous visit, said, in 
answer to my questions : 

‘‘ Jean discovered the poor mademoiselle in the petit 
salon about a quarter of an hour after m’sieur had 
left. She was lying upon her face near the windoAv, 
quite rigid. He shouted; we all rushed in, and on 
examining her found that she was already dead.” 

“ But was there no sign of a struggle ? ” I inquired, 
leading the way to the room indicated. 

‘‘ The room was just as m’sieur sees it now,” she an- 
swered, with a wave of her hand. 

I glanced around, but as far as I could distinguish 
it was exactly as I had left it. 


55 


A Piece of Plain Paper 

“ There was no mark of violence — nothing to show 
that mademoiselle had been the victim of foul play ? ” 

“ Nothing, m’sieur.’’ 

Could it have been a case of suicide ? I wondered. 
Yolande’s words before I had taken leave of her were 
desponding, and almost led me to believe that she had 
taken her life rather than face the man Wolf who 
had so suddenly arrived in Paris — the man who exer- 
cised upon her some mysterious influence, the nature 
of which I could not guess. 

“ It was not more than fifteen minutes after I had 
left, you say ? ” I inquired. 

“No, m’sieur, not more.” 

“ Mademoiselle had no other visitor ? ” 

“ No, m’sieur. Of that we are all certain.” 

“ And the Countess, where was she during the time 
I was here ? ” 

“She was out driving. She did not return till 
about five minutes after we had made the terrible 
discovery.” 

“ And how did madame act ? ” 

“ She ordered us to carry poor mademoiselle to her 
room. Poor madame ! She bore the blow with won- 
derful fortitude.” 

That remark caused me to prick up my ears. 

“ I don’t quite understand,” I said. “ Did she not 
give way to tears ? ” 

“ No, m’sieur ; she shed no tears, but sat erect, mo- 
tionless as a statue. She appeared unable to realise 
that poor mademoiselle was actually dead. At last 
she rang, and sent Jean to you.” 

“You are absolutely certain that mademoiselle had 
no visitor after I left ? ” 

“Absolutely,” 


56 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ It would, moreover, not be possible for any one to 
enter or leave without your knowledge ? ” I suggested. 

“ M’sieur understands me perfectly. Mademoiselle 
must have fallen to the floor lifeless immediately after 
I had let you out. She made no sound, and had Jean 
not entered with her letters, which the concierge had 
brought, my poor young mistress might be lying there 
now.” 

The average Frenchwoman of the lower class is al- 
ways dramatic wherever a domestic calamity is con- 
cerned, and this worthy bonne was no exception. 
She punctuated all her remarks with references to the 
sacred personages of the Roman Catholic religion. 

“ You haven’t searched the room, I suppose ? ” 

“No, m’sieur. Madame gave orders that nothing 
was to be touched.” 

This reply was eminently satisfactory. I glanced 
again around the place, now dim in the falling twi- 
light, and ordered her to throw back the sun-shutters. 

The woman went to the window and opened them, 
admitting a flood of mellow light, the last crimson of 
the glorious afterglow. Up from the boulevard came 
the dull roar of the trafiic, mingling with the sound 
of distant bells ringing the Ave Maria. The bonne — 
an Alsatian, from her accent — crossed herself from 
force of habit, and retreated towards the door. 

“You may go,” I said. “I will remain here until 
the doctor arrives.” 

“ Bien, m’sieur,” answered the woman, disappearing 
and closing the door after her. 

My object in dismissing her was to make a thorough 
search of the apartment, in order to discover whether 
any of Yolande’s private possessions were there. She 
had been denounced by Kaye and Anderson as a spy. 


A Piece of Plain Paper 57 

and it occurred to me that I might possibly discover 
the truth. But she was dead. The painful fact 
seemed absolutely incredible. 

The room was not a large one, but well furnished, 
with considerable taste and elegance. There was the 
broad, silk-covered couch, upon which Yolande had 
sat in the full possession of health and spirits only a 
couple of hours before ; the skin rug, upon which her 
tiny foot had been stretched so coquettishly ; the 
small table, by which she had stood supporting herself 
after I had made the fatal announcement that Wolf 
was in Paris. 

As I stood there the whole of that strangely dra- 
matic scene occurred to me. Yet she was dead — 
dead ! She had died with her secret in her heart. 

At any moment Dick Deane might arrive, but I de- 
sired to be the first to make an examination of the 
room, and with that object crossed to the little escri- 
toire of inlaid olive-wood, one of those rather gim- 
crack pieces of furniture manufactured along the 
Ligurian coast for unsuspecting winter visitors. It 
was the only piece of incongruous furniture in the 
room, all the rest being genuine Louis Quatorze. 

One or two letters bearing conspicuous coats-of- 
arms were lying there, but all were notes of a private 
nature from one or other of her friends. One was an 
invitation to Yichy from the Baronne Deland, wife of 
the great Paris financier; another, signed “Kose,” 
spoke of the gaiety of Cairo and the dances at Shep- 
heard’s during the past winter ; while a third, also in 
French, and bearing no signature, made an appoint- 
ment to meet her in the English tea-shop in the Kue 
Poyale on the following day at five o’clock. 

That note, written upon plain paper of business ap- 


58 Her Majesty’s Minister 

pearance, had apparently been left by hand. Who, I 
wondered, was the person who had made that appoint- 
ment? To me the writing seemed disguised, and 
probably, owing to the thickness of the up-strokes, 
had been penned by a male hand. There was a mis- 
take in the orthography, too, the word “ plaisir ” being 
written “ plasir.” This showed plainly that no French- 
man had written it. 

I placed the letter in my pocket, and, encouraged 
by it, continued my investigations. 

In the tiny letter-rack was a note which the un- 
fortunate girl had written immediately before being 
struck down. It was addressed to “ Baronne Maillac, 
Chateau des Grands Sablons, Seine et Marne.” The 
little escritoire contained four small drawers ; the con- 
tents of each I carefully scrutinised. They were, how- 
ever, mostly private letters of a social character — 
some from persons whom I knew well in Society. 
Suddenly, from the bottom of one of the smaller 
drawers, I drew forth several sheets of plain octavo 
paper of a pale yellow shade. There were, perhaps, 
half-a-dozen sheets, carefully wrapped in a sheet of 
plain blue foolscap. I opened them, and, holding one 
up to the light, examined the water-mark. 

hText instant the truth was plain. That paper was 
the official paper used in French Government offices 
for written reports. How came it in her possession, if 
the accusation against her were untrue ? 

I held it in my hand, glaring at it in bewilderment. 
Sheet by sheet I examined it, but there was no writ- 
ing upon it. Apparentl}^ it was her reserve store of 
paper, to be used as wanted. In the French MinisW 
of Foreign Aifairs everything is methodical, especially 
the preparation of the dossiers, A certain dossier 


59 


A Piece of Plain Paper 

had once fallen into Kaye’s hands, and it contained 
sheets of exactly similar paper to that which I held in 
my hand. 

Eagerly I continued my search, striving to discover 
some writing which might lead me to a knowledge of 
the truth, but I found nothing. I had completed an 
examination of the whole of the contents of the 
drawers, when it occurred to me that there might be 
some other drawer concealed there. Years ago I had 
been offered an escritoire of this pattern in Genoa, 
and the sun-tanned fellow who endeavoured to induce 
me to purchase it had shown behind the centre drawer 
in the table a cunningly contrived cavity where private 
correspondence might be concealed. 

Therefore I drew out the drawer, sounded the in- 
terior at the back, and, finding it hollow, searched 
about for the spring by which it might be opened. 
At last I found it, and next moment drew forth a 
bundle of letters. They were bound with a blue rib- 
bon that time had faded. I glanced at the super- 
scription of the uppermost, and a thrill of sympathy 
went through me. 

Those carefully preserved letters were my own — 
letters full of love and tenderness, which I had written 
in the days that were dead. I stood holding them in 
my hand, my heart full of the past. 

In this narrative, my reader, it is my intention to 
conceal nothing, but to relate to you the whole, un- 
disguised truth, even though this chapter of England’s 
secret history presents a seemingly improbable com- 
bination of strange facts and circumstances. There- 
fore I will not hide from you the truth that in those 
moments, as I drew forth one of the letters I had 
written long ago and read it through, sweet and tender 


6o Her Majesty’s Minister 

memories crowded upon me, and in my eyes stood 
blinding tears. I may be forgiven for this, I think, 
when it is remembered how fondly I had once loved 
Yolande, before that fatal day when jealousy had con- 
sumed me, and I had turned my back upon her as a 
woman false and worthless. 

Letter after letter I read, each bringing back to me 
sad memories of those days, when in the calm sunset 
hour we had wandered by the riverside hand in hand 
like children, each supremely content in each other’s 
love, fondly believing that our mad passion would 
last always. In all the world she had been, to me, 
incomparable. The centre of admiration at those 
brilliant balls at the Eoyal Palace at Brussels, the 
most admired of all the trim and comely girls who 
rode at morning in the Bois, the merriest of those 
who picnicked in the forest round about the ancient 
chateau, the sweetest, the most tender, and the most 
pure of all the women I knew — Yolande in those days 
had been mine. There, in my hand, I held the letter 
which I had written from Scotland when on leave for 
the shooting, asking if she loved me sufficiently to be- 
come my wife. To that letter I well remember her 
reply — indeed, I knew it verbatim ; a tender letter, 
full of honest love and straightforward admission — a 
letter such as only a pure and good woman could have 
penned. Yes, she wrote me that she loved me dearly, 
and would be my wife. 

And yet it was all of the past. All had ended. 

I sighed bitterly — how bitterly, mere words cannot 
describe. You, reader, be you man or woman, can 
you fully realise how deeply I felt at that moment, 
how utterly desolate the world then seemed to me ? 

Those letters I slowly replaced in the cavity and 


6i 


A Piece of Plain Paper 

closed it. Then, as I turned away, my eyes fell upon 
the photographs standing upon a small whatnot close 
by the escritoire. They were of persons whom I did 
not know — all strangers, save one. This was a cabinet 
portrait in a heavy silver frame, and as I took it up to 
scrutinise it more closely a cry involuntarily escaped 
my lips. 

The picture was a three-quarter length representa- 
tion of a black-bearded, keen-eyed man, standing with 
his hands thrust idly in his pockets, and smoking a 
cigarette. There was no mistaking those features. 
It was the photograph of the man the discovery of 
whose presence in Paris had produced such an extra- 
ordinary effect upon her — Kodolphe Wolf. 


CHAPTER YII 


BY A THREAD 

I WAS still standing by the window, holding the 
photograph in my hand, and gazing upon it in wonder, 
when Dick Deane was shown in. 

“ What’s the matter, old chap ? Are you the man 
in possession here ? ” he asked breezily, gripping me 
by the hand. 

He was a fair, merry-faced fellow of thirty-five, 
rather good-looking, smartly dressed in black frock- 
coat of professional cut, and wearing a pair of gold- 
rimmed pince-nez. He had been born in Paris, and 
had spent the greater part of his life there, except 
during the years when he was at school with me 
before going to Edinburgh, where he took his degree. 
Then he had returned to Paris, taken his French de- 
gree, and had soon risen to be one of the fashionable 
doctors in the French capital. He was an especial 
favourite in the salons, and, like every good-looking 
doctor, a favourite with the ladies. 

“I’m not in possession,” I answered. “A very 
serious affair has happened here, and we want your 
assistance.” 

In an instant he became grave, for I suppose my 
tone showed him that I was in no humour for joking. 

“ What’s the nature of the affair ? ” he asked. 

“Death,” I replied seriously. “A lady here — a 
friend of mine — has died mysteriously.” 

62 


By a Thread 63 

“ A mystery — eh ? ” he exclaimed, instantly inter- 
ested. “ Tell me about it.” 

“ This place,” I replied, “ belongs to the Countess de 
Foville, a lady whom I knew well when I was at the 
Brussels Embassy, and it is her daughter Yolande 
who has been found dead in this room this evening.” 

“ Yolande de Foville ! ” he repeated, with knit brows. 
“ She was a friend of yours once, if I mistake not ? ” 
he added, looking me straight in the face. 

“ Yes, Dick, she was,” I responded. “ I told you of 
her long ago.” 

“ You loved her once ? ” 

“ Yes,” I answered with difficulty, “ I loved her once.” 

“ And how did the unfortunate affair occur ? ” he 
asked, folding his arms and leaning back against a 
chair. “ Tell me the whole story.” 

I called here this afternoon, and spent half an hour 
or so with her,” I said. “ Then I left and returned 
straight to the Embassy ” 

“ You left her here ? ” he inquired, interrupting. 

“Yes, in this very room. But it seems that a quar- 
ter of an hour later one of the servants entered and 
discovered her lying upon the floor, dead.” 

“ Curious ! ” he ejaculated. “ Has a medical man 
seen her ? ” 

“ Ho. The Countess sent for me as being one of her 
daughter’s most intimate friends, and I, in turn, sent 
for you.” 

“ Where is the poor young lady ? ” 

“ In her room at the end of the corridor,” I answered 
hoarsely. 

“ Is there any suspicion of murder ? ” 

“Apparently none whatever. She had no visitor 
after I left.” 


64 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ And no suspicion of suicide ? ” he asked, with a 
sharp look. “ Did you part friends ? ” 

“ Perfectly so,” I responded. “ As to suicide, she 
had no reason, as far as any one knows, to make an 
attempt upon her life.” 

He gave vent to an expression which sounded to me 
much like a grunt of dissatisfaction. 

“ISTow, be perfectly frank with me,. Gerald,” he 
said, suddenly turning to me and placing his hand 
upon my shoulder. “ You loved her very dearly once 
— was that not so ? ” 

I nodded. 

“ I well remember it,” he went on. “ I quite recol- 
lect how, on one occasion, you came over to London, 
and while dining together at Jimmy’s you told me of 
your infatuation, and showed me her photograph. Do 
you remember the night when you told me of your 
engagement to her ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ And as time went on you suddenly dropped her — 
for what reason I know not. We are pals, but I have 
never attempted to pry into your affairs. If she really 
loved you, it must have been a hard blow for her when 
she heard that you had forsaken her for Edith Austin.” 

“ You reproach me,” I said. “ But you do not know 
the whole truth, my dear fellow. I discovered that 
Yolande possessed a second lover.” 

He nodded slowly, with pursed lips. 

“ And that was the reason of your parting ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ The sole reason ? ” 

“ The sole reason.” 

“ And you have no suspicion that she may have com- 
mitted suicide because of her love for you? Such 


By a Thread 65 

things are not uncommon, remember, with girls of a 
certain temperament.” 

“ If she has committed suicide, it is not on my ac- 
count,” I responded in a hard voice. 

“ I did not express that opinion,” he hastened to 
protest. “Before we discuss the matter further it 
will be best for me to see her. Death may have been 
due to natural causes, for aught we know.” 

I stood motionless. His suggestion that my sweet- 
heart of the old days had committed suicide because I 
had forsaken her was a startling one. Surely that 
could not be so ? 

“Come,” my friend said, “let us lose no time. 
Which is the room ? ” 

I led him along the corridor, and opened the door 
of the chamber in w^hich she was lying so cold and 
still. The light of the afterglow fell full upon her, 
tipping her auburn hair with crimson and illuminating 
her face with a warm radiance that gave her back the 
appearance of life. But it was only for a few mo- 
ments. The slanting ray was lost, and the pallor of 
that beautiful countenance became marked against the 
gold of her wondrous hair. 

In silence I stood at the foot of the bed watching 
my friend, who was now busy with his examination. 
He opened her eyes and closed them again, felt her 
heart, raised her arms, and examined her mouth, ut- 
tering no word. His serious face wore a look as 
though he were infinitely puzzled. 

One after the other he examined the palms of her 
hands long and carefully, then, bending until his eyes 
were close to her face, he examined her lips, brow, 
and the whole surface of her cheeks. Upon her neck, 
below the left ear, was a mark to which he returned 


66 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

time after time, as though not satisfied as to its cause. 
Upon her lower lip, too, was a slight yellow discolora- 
tion, which he examined several times, comparing it 
with the mark upon the neck. He was unable to ac- 
count for either. 

“ Curious ! ” he ejaculated. “ Yery curious indeed ! ” 

“ What is curious ? ” I inquired eagerly. 

“ Those marks,” he answered, indicating them with 
his finger. “ They are very puzzling. I’ve never seen 
such marks before.” 

“ Do they point to foul play ? ” I inquired, feeling 
suspicious that she had by some mysterious means 
fallen the victim of an assassin. 

“Well, no,” he responded, after some hesitation; 
“ that is not my opinion.” 

“ Then what is your opinion ? ” 

“ At present I have none. I can have none until I 
make a thorough examination. There are certainly 
no outward marks of violence.” 

“We need not inform the police, I suppose ? ” 

“Hot at present,” he replied, his eyes still fixed 
upon the blanched face of the woman who had once 
been all the world to me. 

I raised her dead hand, and upon it imprinted a last 
fervent kiss. It was cold and clammy to my lips. In 
that hour all my old love for her had returned, and 
my heart had become filled with an intense bitterness 
and desolation. I had thought that all my love for 
her was dead, and that Edith Austin, the calm, sweet 
woman far away in an English county, who wrote to 
me daily from her quiet home deep in the woodlands, 
had taken her place. But our meeting and its tragic 
sequel had, I admit, aroused within me a deep sym- 
pathy, which had, within an hour, developed into that 


6 ; 


By a Thread 

great and tender love of old. With men this return 
to the old love is of no infrequent occurrence, but 
with women it seldom happens. Perhaps this is be- 
cause man is more fickle and more easily influenced 
by Avoman’s voice, woman’s glances, and Avoman’s 
tears. 

The reader will probably accuse me of injustice and 
of fickleness of heart. Well, I cannot deny it; in- 
deed, I seek to deny nothing in this narrative of 
strange facts and diplomatic wiles, but Avould only 
ask of those who read to withhold their verdict until 
they have ascertained the truth yet to be revealed, and 
have read to the conclusion this strange chapter of 
the secret history of a nation. 

My friend the doctor Avas holding one hand, while 
I imprinted a last kiss upon the other. A lump was 
in my throat, my eyes were filled with tears, my 
thoughts Avere all of the past, my anguish of heart 
unspeakable. That small chill hand with the cold, 
glittering ring — one that I had given her in Brussels 
long ago — seemed to be the only reality in all that 
hideous phantasmagoria of events. 

Do not despair,” murmured the kind voice of my 
old friend, standing opposite me on the other side of 
the bed. “You loved her once, but it is all over — 
surely it is ! ” 

“ No, Dick ! ” I answered brokenly. “ I thought I 
did not love her. I have held her from me these 
three years — until noAV.” 

“ Ah ! ” he sighed, “ I understand. Man ahvaj^s 
longs for the unattainable.” 

“ Yes, ahvays,” I responded. 

In that moment the memory of the day Avhen we 
had parted arose gaunt and ghost-like. I had Avronged 


68 Her Majesty’s Minister 

her ; I felt confident that I had. All came back to 
me now — that cruel, scandalous denunciation I had 
uttered in the heat of my mad jealousy — the false tale 
which had struck her dumb by its circumstantial ac- 
curacy. Ah ! how bitter it all was, now that punish- 
ment was upon me ! I remembered how, in the hour 
of my worldly triumph and of her highest hope — at 
the very moment when she had spoken words of 
greater affection to me than she had ever used before 
— I had made the charge against her, and she had 
fallen back with her young heart crushed within her. 
My ring was there, still glittering mockingly upon 
her dead hand. By the unfounded charge I had made 
against her I had sinned. My sin at that moment 
arose from its grave, and barred the way forever to all 
hope — to all happiness. 

The summer twilight was stealing on apace, and in 
the silence of the room there sounded the roar of life 
from the boulevard below. Men were crying Le Soir 
with strident voices, and all Paris was on its way to 
dine, and afterwards to enjoy itself in idleness upon 
the terraces of the cafes or at those al fresco variety 
performances in the Avenue des Champs El3"sees, 
where the entrance fee includes a consommation. 

Deane still held my old love’s hand, bending in the 
dim light until his eyes were close to it, watching 
intently. But I took no notice, for my eyes were 
fixed upon that face that had held me in such fascina- 
tion, and had been so admired at those brilliant recep- 
tions given by King Leopold and the Countess of 
Flanders. The doctor stretched forth his hand, and 
of a sudden switched on the electric light. The next 
instant I was startled by his loud ejaculation of sur- 
prise. 


By a Thread 69 

“ Thank God ! ” he cried. “ She’s not dead, after 
all!” 

“ Not dead ! ” I gasped, unable fully to realise his 
meaning. 

“ No,” he answered breathlessly. ‘‘ But we must 
not lose a single instant.” And I saw that with a 
lancet he had made an incision in her delicate wrist, 
and there was blood there. “ She is in a state of cata- 
lepsy, and we must do all in our power to bring her 
round.” 

“ But do you think you can ? ” I cried. 

“ I hope so.” 

“ Do your best, Dick,” I implored. “ Save her, for 
my sake.” 

“ Eely upon me,” he answered calmly, adding : “Eun 
along to No. 18 in the boulevard — the corner house 
on the right — and bring Doctor Trepard at once. He 
lives au troisieme. Tell him that I sent you, and that 
the matter is one of life or death.” He scribbled 
some words on a card, and, giving it me, added : 
“Tell him to bring this. Meanwhile, I will com- 
mence artificial respiration. Go ! ” 

“ But do you think she will really recover ? ” I de- 
manded. 

“I can’t tell. We have already lost so much time. 
I had no idea of the truth. It has surprised me just 
as it has surprised you. This moment is not one for 
words, but for actions. Don’t lose an instant.” 

Thus urged, I snatched up my hat and tore along 
the boulevard like a madman. Without difficulty I 
found Trepard’s appartement, and on being admitted 
found him a grave-faced, rather stout old Frenchman, 
who, on the instant I mentioned Dick’s name and 
gave him the card with the words upon it, naming 


yo Her Majesty’s Minister 

some drugs he required, went into an adjoining room, 
and fetched a phial of tiny red pillules, which he held 
up to the light. Then he put on his hat, and de- 
scended with me to the street. A fiacre was passing, 
which we took, and five minutes later we were stand- 
ing together in the room where Yolande was lying. 

“ This is a most curious case, my dear Trepard,” be- 
gan Dick, speaking in French — a case of coma, 
which I have mistaken for death ; ” and, continuing, 
he briefly explained how the patient had been found 
in a state so closely resembling death that he himself 
had been deceived. 

The old Frenchman placed his hand upon her heart, 
and, withdrawing it, said : 

“ She’s breathing now.” 

‘‘ Breathing ! ” I echoed. “ Then she is recov- 
ering ! ” 

“Yes, old fellow,” Dick replied, ‘^she is recovering 
— at least we hope we shall save her.” Then, turning 
to his colleague, he raised her hand and pointed to 
the finger-nails, asking : “ Do you notice anything 
there ? ” 

The other, adjusting his pince-nez, bent and ex- 
amined them one by one. 

“Yes,” he answered at last. “A slight purple dis- 
coloration at the base of the nails.” 

“ And upon the lower lip does anything strike you 
as peculiar ? ” 

“ A yellow mark,” he answered, after carefully in- 
specting the spot indicated. 

“ And there ? ” Deane asked, touching the mark 
upon the neck. 

“ Yery strange ! ” ejaculated the elder man. “ It is 
a most unusual case.” 


By a Thread 71 

“Yes. Have you brought the hydrated peroxide 
of iron ? ” 

For answer the Frenchman produced the tiny tube, 
saying : 

“ Then you suspect poison ? ” 

“ Most certainly,” he replied ; and, taking a glass, 
he placed a single pillule in it, dissolving it in water, 
which he afterwards forced between the grey lips of 
my unconscious love. Afterwards he glanced at his 
watch, observing: “We must give another in fifteen 
minutes.” 

Then, drawing a chair to the bedside, he seated 
himself, holding her wrist and watching her counte- 
nance for any change that might take place there. 

“ Have you no idea of the nature of the poison ? ” 
I inquired eagerly. 

“Hone,” he responded. “Ask me no questions 
now. When we have brought her round will be time 
enough. It should be suflScient for you to know that 
she is not dead. Why not leave us for the present ? 
Go and break the good news to the Countess.” 

“ You wish to be alone ? ” 

“Yes. This is a serious matter. Leave us undis- 
turbed, and on no pretext allow her mother to enter 
here.” 

Thus urged, and feeling reassured by their state- 
ment that she still lived and that the pulsations of her 
heart were already quite perceptible, I left the room, 
noiselessly closing the door after me, and sought the 
Countess in the small blue boudoir to which she had 
returned plunged in grief and dark despair. 

She was seated in a chair, motionless and statuesque, 
staring straight before her. The blow had utterly 
crushed her, for she was entirely devoted to her only 


y2 Her Majesty’s Minister 

daughter now that her husband was dead. I well 
knew how deep was her affection for Yolande, and 
how tender was her maternal love. 

The room was in semi-darkness, for she had not 
risen to turn on the light. As I entered I did so with 
her permission, saying quietly : 

“ Madame, I come to you with a message.” 

“ From whom ? ” she asked in a hard mechanical 
voice. 

“ From my friend Deane, the English doctor whom 
I have summoned. Yolande still lives ! ” 

“ She lives ! ” she cried, springing to her feet in an 
instant. “ You are deceiving me ! ” 

“I am not, madame,” I reassured her, smiling. 
“ Your daughter is still breathing, and is increasing in 
strength perceptibly. The doctors say that she will 
probably recover.” 

“ Thank God ! ” she gasped, her thin white hands 
clasped before her. “ I pray that He may give her 
back to me. I will go to her.” 

But I held her back, explaining that both the med- 
ical men had expressed a wish to remain there alone. 

“But what caused that appearance so akin to 
death ? ” she asked quickly. 

“ At present they cannot tell,” I responded. “ Some 
deleterious substance is suspected, but until she has 
returned to consciousness and can give us some de- 
tails of her sudden attack we can determine nothing.” 

“ But she will recover, m’sieur ? ” the Countess 
asked. “ Are you certain ? ” 

“ The chances are in her favour, the doctors say. 
They have given her a drug to counteract the effect 
of the poison.” 

“ Poison ! W as she poisoned ? ” gasped the Countess, 


By a Thread 

Poison is suspected,” I answered quietly. “ But 
calm yourself, madame. The truth will be discovered 
in due course.” 

“ I care nothing so long as Yolande is given back to 
me!” the distressed woman cried. “Was it your 
English friend who discovered the truth ? ” 

“ Yes,” I replied. “He is one of the cleverest men 
in Paris.” 

“And to him my poor Yolande will owe her life ? ” 

“ Yes, to him.” 

“ And to you also, m’sieur ? You have done your 
utmost for us, and I thank you warmly for it all.” 

“Madame,” I said earnestly, “I have done only 
what a man should do. You sought my assistance, 
and I have given it, because ” 

“ Because of what ? ” she inquired sharply the in- 
stant I paused. 

“ Because I once loved her,” I responded with per- 
fect frankness. 

A sigh escaped her, and her hand sought my arm. 

“ I was young once, m’sieur,” she said in that calm, 
refined voice which had long ago always sounded so 
much to me like that of my own dead mother. “ I 
understand your feeling — I understand perfectly. It 
is only my poor daughter who does not understand. 
She knows that you have forsaken her — that is all.” 

It was upon my tongue to lay bare to her the secret 
of my heart’s longings, yet I hesitated. I remembered 
that calm, serious, sweet-faced woman on the other 
side of the English channel, far from the glare and 
glitter of life as I knew it — the fevered life which the 
diplomat in Paris is forced to lead. I remembered my 
troth to Edith, and my conscience pricked me. 

“ Could it be possible,” I refiected, “ that Yolande 


74 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

was really in the pay of a Government hostile to 
England ? ’’ Kaye was already nearing Berlin with the 
intention of searching out her actions and exposing her 
as a spy, while Anderson had already denounced her as 
having been a party to an attempt to secure the secret 
which he had carried from Berlin to Downing Street. 

With a mother’s solicitude the Countess could for 
some time only speak of Yolande’s mysterious attack; 
but at last, in order to prosecute my inquiries further, 
I observed, during a lull in the conversation : 

“ At the Baroness de Chalencon’s last night a friend 
of yours inquired about you, madam e.” 

“ A friend ? Who ? ” 

“A man named Wolf — Kodolphe Wolf.” 

The next instant I saw that the mention of that 
name affected the mother no less markedly than it had 
affected the daughter. Her face blanched ; her eyes 
opened wide in fear, and her glance became in a mo- 
ment suspicious. With marvellous self-possession she, 
however, pretended ignorance. 

‘‘Wolf?” she repeated. “I do not remember the 
name. Possibly he is some person we have met while 
travelling.” 

“ Yolande knew him, I believe, in Brussels,” I re- 
marked. “ He appeared to be acquainted with you.” 

“ My daughter’s friends are not always mine,” she 
remarked coldly, with that cleverness which only a 
woman of the world can possess, and at once returned 
to the discussion of Yolande and the probability of 
her recovery. 

This puzzled me. I felt somehow convinced that 
she knew the truth. She had some distinct object in 
endeavouring to seal my lips. What it was, however, 
I could not determine. 


By a Thread 75 

She was expressing a fervent hope that her daugh- 
ter would recover, and pacing the room, impatient to 
go to her bedside, when, of a sudden, Dick opened the 
door, and, putting his head inside, addressed me, say- 
ing: 

‘‘ Can I speak with you a moment, Ingram ? ” 

She dashed to the door in eagerness, but after a 
word of introduction from myself, he informed her 
that Yolande had not sufficiently recovered to be dis- 
turbed. 

“Perfect quiet is absolutely necessary, madame,” 
he urged. “ Your daughter, I am pleased to tell you, 
will live ; but she must be kept absolutely quiet. I 
cannot allow you to approach her on any pretext 
whatsoever.” 

“ She will not die, will she ? ” the woman implored 
distractedly. 

“ No,” he replied, in a voice somewhat strained, I 
thought, “she will not die. Of that you may rest as- 
sured.” 

Then turning to me, he beckoned, and I followed 
him out of the room. 


CHAPTEK YIII 


THE OLD LOVE 

I don’t like that woman, old fellow,” were the 
first words Dick uttered when we were alone in the 
room in which Yolande had been found. 

“Why not?” I asked, rather surprised. “The 
Countess de Foville is always charming.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, saying : 

“One sometimes has strange and unaccountable 
prejudices, you know. This is one of mine.” 

“And Yolande,” I asked, “ what of her?” 

“She’s better. But it was fortunate I made the 
discovery just when I did, or she would no doubt have 
passed away. I never saw an appearance so closely 
resembling death in all my experience; in fact, I’d 
have staked my professional reputation that there was 
no spark of life.” 

“But what was the cause of it all?” I demanded. 
“ You surely know the reason ? ” 

“No, we cannot yet tell,” he answered. “The 
marks puzzle us. That mark on her lower lip is the 
most peculiar and unaccountable. At present we can 
say nothing.” 

“ Then why did you call me out ? ” 

“ Because I want to consult you,” he replied. “ The 
fact is, that in this affair there is a strong element of 
mystery which I don’t like at all. And, moreover, 
thq few seconds during which I’ve seen the Countess 
7Q 


The Old Love 


77 

have plainly impressed upon me the belief that either 
she has had something to do with it, or else that she 
knows the truth.” 

I nodded. This was exactly my own theory. 

“Do you think Yolande has been the victim of foul 
play ? ” I inquired a moment later. 

“That’s my suspicion,” he responded. “But only 
she herself can tell us the truth.” 

“ You really think, then, that a dastardly attempt 
has been made upon her life ? ” I cried incredulously. 

“ Personally, I think there can be no doubt.” 

“ But by whom ? I^o one called here after my de- 
parture.” 

“ It is that mystery which we must elucidate,” he 
said. “ All I fear is, however, that she may render us 
no assistance.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Because it is a mystery, and in all probability she 
will endeavour to preserve the secret. She must not 
see the Countess before we question her.” 

“ Is she yet conscious ? ” I asked in eagerness. 

“ Yes ; but at present we must put no question to 
her.” 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” I gasped. Then I added, fer- 
vently grasping my friend’s hand : “You cannot real- 
ise, Dick, what great consolation this is to me ! ” 

“I know, my dear fellow — I know,” he answered 
sympathetically. “But may I speak to you as a 
friend? You won’t be offended at anything I am 
about to say, will you ? ” 

“ Offended ? — certainly not. Our friendship is too 
firm for that, Dick. What is it you wish to say ? ” 

I saw that he was uneasy, and was surprised at his 
sudden gravity. 


y8 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ Well,” lie said, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘^you’ll 
forgive me for saying so, but I don’t think that in this 
affair you’ve told me exactly the truth,” 

What do you mean ? ” I inquired quickly. 

“ I mean that when you parted from her this after- 
noon you were not altogether good friends.” 

“ You are mistaken,” I assured him. “We were as 
good friends as ever before.” 

“ No high words passed between you ? ” 

“ None.” 

“And nothing that you told her caused her any 
sudden grief? Are you quite certain of this?” he 
asked, looking at me very fixedly through his glasses. 

“I made one observation which certainly caused 
her surprise,” I admitted. “ Nothing else.” 

“ Was it only surprise ? ” he asked very calmly. 

“ Surprise mingled with fear.” 

“ Ah ! ” he ejaculated, as though obtaining some in- 
telligence by this admission of mine. “And may I 
not know the nature of the information you gave 
her?” 

“No, Dick,” I responded. “It is a secret — her 
secret.” 

He was silent. 

“ You refuse to tell me ? ” he said disappointedly. 

“I am unable,” I replied. 

“ And if I judge rightly, it is this secret which has 
parted you ? ” 

“No, it is not,” I answered. “That’s the most 
curious part of the ‘whole affair. The very existence 
of the secret has brought us together again.” 

“You mean that you have forsaken Edith and re- 
turned to her ? ” he observed, raising his brows slightly 
in surprise, 


The Old Love 


79 

“Ko; don’t put it in that way,” I implored. “I 
have not yet forsaken Edith.” 

He smiled, just a trifle superciliously, I thought. 

‘‘ And the Countess is also in possession of this mys- 
terious secret — eh ? ” 

“ Of that I am not at all certain,” I replied. 

He sniffed in distinct suspicion that what I had told 
him was not the truth. At the same instant, how- 
ever, the Countess entered and demanded to know the 
condition of her child. 

“ She is much better, madame,” he answered. 
“Perfect quiet is, however, necessary, and constant 
observation of the temperature. To-morrow, or the 
day after, you may, I think, see her.” 

“ Hot till then ! ” she cried. “ I cannot wait so long.” 

“But it is necessary. Your daughter’s life hangs 
upon a single thread.” 

She was silenced, for she saw that argument was 
useless. 

A few minutes later Jean entered with a message 
from Trepard asking Dick and myself to consult with 
him. We therefore left the Countess again, and 
passed along the corridor to the room in which my 
love of long ago was lying. As we entered she lifted 
her hand slowly to me in sign of recognition, and in 
an instant I was at her side. 

“Yolande!” I cried, taking her hand, so different 
now that death had been defeated by life. “ Yolande ! 
my darling,” I burst forth involuntarily, “ you have 
come back to me ! ” 

A sweet, glad smile spread over her beautiful face, 
leaving an expression of calm and perfect content- 
ment, as in a low, uncertain voice, as though of one 
speaking afar off, she asked : 


8o 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ Gerald, is it actually you ? ” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ of course it is. These two gentle- 
men are doctors,” I added. “ This is my old friend 
Deane, and the other is Doctor Tr6pard, of whom I 
dare say you have heard.” 

She nodded to them both in acknowledgment of 
their kind expressions ; then in a few low words in- 
quired what had happened to her. She seemed in 
utter ignorance of it all. 

“ You were found lying on the floor of the little 
salon soon after I left, and they thought you were 
dead,” I explained. “ Cannot you tell us how it oc- 
curred ? ” 

A puzzled expression settled upon her face, as 
though she were trying to remember. 

“ I recollect nothing,” she declared. 

“But you surely remember how you were at- 
tacked ? ” I urged. 

“ Attacked ! ” she echoed in surprise. “ No one at- 
tacked me.” 

“ I did not mean that,” I answered, rather puzzled 
at her quick protest. “ I meant that you were probably 
aware of the symptoms which preceded your uncon- 
sciousness.” 

“ I felt a strange dizziness and a curious tightness 
in the throat and chest. That is all I remember. All 
became blank until I opened my eyes again and found 
myself lying here, with these two gentlemen standing 
at my side. The duration of my unconsciousness did 
not appear to me longer than a few minutes.” 

“ Then mademoiselle has no idea of the cause of her 
strange illness ? ” inquired Deane in French. 

“ None whatever, m’sieur.” 

“ Tell us one fact,” he urged. “ During the time 


The Old Love 


8i 


which elapsed between your parting with M’sieur 
Ingram and your sudden unconsciousness, did any one 
enter the room ? ” 

“ No one ; of that I am absolutely certain.” 

“ How were you occupied during that time ? ” 

“ I was writing a letter.” 

‘‘And before you rose did you feel the curious 
giddiness ? ” 

“ No, not until after I stood up. I tried to shout 
and attract help, but could not. Then I reached to 
press the bell, but stumbled forward, and the next in- 
stant I was lost in what seemed to be a dense fog.” 

“ Curious ! ” ejaculated Trepard, who stood by with 
folded arms, eagerly listening to every word — “ very 
curious ! ” 

“ Did you feel any strange sensation on the left side 
of your neck beneath the ear, or upon your lower 
lip ? ” inquired Deane earnestly. 

She reflected for a moment, then said : 

“ Now that I remember, there was a curious numb- 
ness of my lip.” 

“ Followed immediately by unconsciousness ? ” 

“ Yes, almost immediately.” 

The doctors exchanged glances, which showed that 
the mark upon the lip was the chief enigma of the 
situation. 

Trepard glanced at his watch, dissolved yet another 
pillule of hydrated peroxide of iron, and handed her 
the draught to swallow. The antidote had acted 
almost like magic. 

“You are absolutely certain that no person entered 
the room after Ingram had left ? ” repeated Deane, 
as though not yet satisfied. 

“ Absolutely.” 


82 Her Majesty’s Minister 

Dick Deane turned his eyes full upon me, and I di- 
vined his thoughts. He was reflecting upon the con- 
versation held between us before we entered that 
room. He was endeavouring to worm from her some 
clue to her secret. 

^‘My mother knows that I am recovering?” she 
went on. “ If she does not, please tell her. She has 
been so distressed of late that this must have been the 
crowning blow to her.” 

I have told madame your mother everything,” I 
said. “ Do not be uneasy on her account.” 

“ Ah,” she sighed, “ how I regret that we came to 
Paris! I regret it all, Gerald, save that you and I 
have met again ; ” and she stretched out her hand 
until it came into contact with my coat-button, with 
which she toyed like a child. 

‘‘And this meeting has really given you satisfac- 
tion ? ” I whispered to her, heedless of the presence of 
the others. 

“Hot only satisfaction,” she answered, so softly that 
I alone could catch her words, and looking into my 
face with that expression of passionate affection which 
can never be simulated ; “ it has given back to me a 
desire for happiness, for life, for love.” 

There were tears in those wonderful blue eyes, and 
her small hand trembled within my grasp. My heart 
at that moment was too full for mere words. True, I 
loved her with a mad fondness that I had never be- 
fore entertained for any woman ; yet, nevertheless, a 
hideous shadow arose between us, shutting her off 
from me forever — the shadow of her secret — the secret 
that she, my well-beloved, was actually a spy. 


CHAPTER IX 


AT THE ELYSEE 

Having reassured m^^self of Yolande’s recovery, I 
was compelled to rush off, slip into uniform, and at- 
tend a dinner at the Elysee. The function was a bril- 
liant affair, as are all the official junketings of the 
French President. At the right of the head of the 
Republic, who was distinguishable by his crimson 
sash, sat the Countess Tornelli, with the wife of 
the United States Ambassador on his left. The 
President’s wife — who wore a superb gown of corn- 
coloured miroir velvet, richly embroidered and inlaid 
with Venetian lace, a veritable triumph of the Rue de 
la Paix — had on her right the Papal Nuncio, Monsig- 
nor Lerenzelli, the doyen of the Diplomatic Corps, 
while on her left was my Chief, Lord Barmouth. 

The seat next me was allotted to his daughter Sibyl, 
who looked charming in rose chiffon. During dinner 
she chatted merrily, describing a charity bazaar which 
she had attended that afternoon accompanied by 
her mother. On the other side of her sat Count 
Berchtold, the secretary of the Austrian Embassy, 
who was, I shrewdly suspected, one of her most de- 
voted admirers. She was charming — a typical, smart 
English girl ; and I think that I was proved to be an 
exception among men by reason of the fact that I did 
not flirt with her. Indeed, we were excellent friends, 
and my long acquaintance with her gave me a pre- 
scriptive right to a kind of brotherly solicitude for 
83 


84 Her Majesty's Minister 

her welfare. Times without number I had chaffed 
her about her little affairs of the heart, and as many 
times she had turned my criticisms against myself by 
her witty repartee. She could be exceedingly sarcastic 
when occasion required ; but there had always been a 
perfect understanding between us, and no remark was 
ever distorted into an insult. 

Dinner was followed by a brilliant reception. The 
great Salon des Fetes, which only a year before was 
hung with funeral wreaths, owing to the death of the 
previous President, resounded with that peculiar hum 
made up of all the intonations of conversation and 
discreet laughter rolled together against the sustained 
buzzing of the orchestra a short distance away. The 
scene was one of glittering magnificence. Every one 
knew every one else. Though the crowd of uniforms 
— which always gave an pfficial reception at the Elysee 
the appearance of a bal travesti — I passed M. Casimir 
Perrier, former President of the Republic; M. Paul 
Deschanel, the lion of the hour; M. Benjamin-Con- 
stant, always a prominent figure ; Prince Roland 
Bonaparte, smiling and bowing ; the Duchess d’Auer- 
stadt, with her magnificent jewels ; and Damat, the 
dapper Grand Chancellor of the Legion of Honour. 
All diplomatic Paris was there, chattering, laughing, 
whispering, and plotting. Around me sounded a ver- 
itable babel of tongues, but no part of the function 
interested me. 

From time to time I saluted a man I knew, or bent 
over a woman’s hand ; but my thoughts were of the 
one woman who had so suddenly and so forcibly re- 
turned into my life. The representatives of the 
Powers of Europe were all present, and as they passed 
me by, each in his bright uniform, his orders flashing 


At the Elys^e 85 

on his breast and a woman on his arm, I asked myself 
which of them was actually the employer of my well- 
beloved. 

The startling events of the day had upset me. Had 
it been possible I would have left and returned to my 
rooms for a quiet smoke and for calm reflection. But 
my duty required my presence there ; hence I re- 
mained, strolling slowly around the great crowded 
salon with its myriad lights and profuse floral decora- 
tions, until I suddenly encountered the wizen-faced, 
toothless old Baronne de Chalencon, whose salon was 
one of the most popular in Paris, and with whom I 
was on excellent terms. 

“ Ah ! my dear M’sieur Ingram ! ” she cried, holding 
forth her thin, bony hand laden with jewels. “ You 
look tired. Why ? JSTo one here to-night who inter- 
ests you — eh ? ” 

“Ho one save yourself, Baronne,” I responded, 
bending over her hand. 

“ Flatterer ! ” she laughed. “ If I were forty years 
younger I might accept that as a compliment. But at 
my age — well, it is really cruel of you.” 

“ Intelligence is more interesting to a diplomat than 
a pretty face,” I responded quickly. “ And there is 
certainly no more intelligent woman in all Paris than 
the Baronne de Chalencon.” 

She bowed stiffly, and her wrinkled face, which 
bore visible traces of poudre orkidee and touches of 
the hare’s-foot, puckered up into a simpering smile. 

“Well, and what else?” she asked. “These 
speeches you have apparently prepared for some pretty 
woman you expected to meet here to-night, but, since 
she has not kept the appointment, you are practising 
them upon me.” 


86 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ No,” I said, ‘‘ 1 really protest against that, Bar- 
on ne. A woman is never too old for a man to pay 
her compliments.” 

We had strolled into a cool anteroom, and were 
sitting together upon one of the many seats placed 
beneath clumps of palms and flowers, the only light 
being from a hundred tiny electric lamps hung over- 
head in the trees. The perfect arrangement of those 
anterooms of the Salle des Fetes on the nights of the 
official receptions is always noteworthy, and after the 
heat, music, and babel of tongues in the grand salon 
it was cool, quiet, and refreshing there. 

By holding her regular salon, where everybody who 
was anybody made it a point to be seen, the Baronne 
had acquired in Paris a unique position. Her fine 
house in the Avenue des Champs Elysees was the 
centre of a smart and fashionable set, and she herself 
made a point of being versed in all the latest gossip 
and scandal of the French capital. She scandalised 
nobody, nor did she seek to throw mud at her enemies. 
She merely repeated what was whispered to her ; 
hence a chat with her was always interesting to one 
who, like myself, was paid to keep his ears open and 
report from time to time the direction of the political 
Avind. 

Tournier, the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
and his wife Avere her most intimate friends ; hence 
she Avas frequently aware of facts Avhich were of con- 
siderable importance to us. Indeed, once or twice 
her friendliness for myself had caused her to drop 
hints Avhich had been of the greatest use to Lord Bar- 
mouth in the conduct of his difficult diplomacy at that 
time when the boulevard journals were screaming 
against England and the filthy prints Avere caricaturing 


At the Elys^e 87 

Her Majesty, with intent to insult. Even the Figaro 
— the moderate organ of the French Foreign Office — 
had lost its self-control in the storm of abuse following 
the Fashoda incident, and had libelled and maligned 
“ les English.” I therefore seized the opportunity for 
a chat with the wizen-faced old lady, who seemed in 
a particularly good humour, and deftly turned the 
conversation into the political channel. 

“ Now, tell me, Baronne,” I said, after we had been 
chatting some little time, and I had learnt more than 
one important fact regarding the intentions of Tour- 
nier, what is your opinion regarding the occupation 
of Ceuta ? ” 

She glanced at me quickly, as though surprised that 
I should be aware of what she had believed to be an 
entire secret. 

Of Ceuta ? ” she echoed. “ And what do you at 
your Embassy know regarding it ? ” 

“ We’ve heard a good deal,” I laughed. • 

“No doubt you’ve heard a good deal that is un- 
true,” the clever old lady replied, her powdered face 
again puckering into a smile. “ Do you want to 
know my honest opinion ? ” she added. 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“Well,” she went on, “I attach very little impor- 
tance to the rumours of a projected sale or lease of 
Ceuta to us. I might tell you in confidence,” she went 
on, dropping her voice, “that from some words I 
overheard at the garden-party at de Wolkenstein’s I 
have come to a firm conclusion that, although during 
the next few years important changes will be made 
upon the map of the world, Ceuta will remain Span- 
ish. My country will never menace yours in the 
Mediterranean at that point. A Ministry might be 


88 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

found in Madrid to consider the question of its dis- 
posal, but the Spanish people would rise in revolution 
before they would consent. Spain is very poor, but 
very proud. Having lost so many of her foreign pos- 
sessions, she will hold more strongly than ever to 
Ceuta. There you have the whole situation in a nut- 
shell.” 

“Then the report that it is actually sold to France 
is untrue ? ” I asked eagerly. 

“ A mere report I believe it to be.” 

“ But Spain’s financial indebtedness to France might 
prove an element of danger when Europe justifies 
Lord Beaconsfield’s prediction and rushes into war 
over Morocco ? ” 

“ Ah, my dear M’sieur Ingram, I do not agree with 
the prediction of your great statesman,” the old lady 
said vehemently. “ It is not in that direction in which 
lies the danger of war, but at the other end of the 
Mediterranean.” 

Somehow I suspected her of a deliberate intention* 
to mislead me in this matter. She was a shrewd 
woman, who only disclosed her secrets when it was to 
her own interests or the interests of her friends at the 
Ministry of Foreign Affairs to do so. In Paris there 
is a vast network of French intrigue, and it behoves 
the diplomatist always to be wary lest he should fall 
into the pitfalls so cunningly prepared for him. The 
dividing line between truth and untruth is always so 
very difficult to define in modern diplomacy. It is 
when the European situation seems most secure that 
the match is sufficiently near to fire the mine. For- 
tunate it is that the public, quick to accept anything 
that appears in the daily journals, can be placed in a 
§ense of false security by articles inspired by one or 


At the Elys^e 8g 

other of the embassies interested. If it were not so, 
European panics would certainly be of frequent oc- 
currence. 

My Chief sauntered by, chatting with his close per- 
sonal friend. Prince Olsoufieff, the Kussian Ambassa- 
dor, who looked a truly striking figure in his white 
uniform, with the Cross of St. Andrew glittering at 
his throat. The latter, as he passed, exclaimed con- 
fidentially in Kussian to my Chief, who understood 
that language, having been first Secretary of Embassy 
in Petersburg earlier in his career : 

“Da, ya po-ni-mai-u. Ya sam napishu.” (“Yes, I 
understand. I will write for you myself.”) 

Keen antagonists in diplomacy though they very 
often were, yet in private life a firm friendship existed 
between the pair — a friendship dating from the days 
when the one had been British Attache in Petersburg 
and the other had occupied a position in the Kussian 
Ministry of Foreign Affairs — that large grey building 
facing the Winter Palace. 

“ The lion and the bear strolling together,” laughed 
the toothless old Baronne, after they had passed. 
“Olsoufieff is a charming man, but he never accepts 
my invitations. I cannot tell why. I don’t fancy he 
considers me his friend.” 

“ Sibyl was at your reception the other evening,” I 
remarked suddenly. “She told me she met a man 
who was a stranger in Paris. His name, I think she 
said, was Wolf — Kodolphe Wolf. Who is he?” 

“He was introduced by de Wolkenstein, the Aus- 
trian Ambassador,” she replied quickly. “ I did not 
know him.” 

“ Have you never met him before ? ” I asked, look- 
ing sharply into her eyes, 


90 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ Once, I think, but I am not certain,” she said, 
with a palpable effort to evade my question. 

I smiled. 

‘‘ Come, madame,” I said good-humouredly, “ you 
know Eodolphe Wolf quite as well as I do. When 
you last met, his name was not Wolf. Is not that so ? ” 

“ Well,” she answered, “ now that you put it in that 
manner I may as well admit that your suggestion is 
correct.” 

“And what is the object of his sudden visit to 
Paris ? ” 

“ I cannot make out,” she replied in a more confi- 
dential tone. “As I tell you, de Wolkenstein intro- 
duced him, but, as m’sieur knows, I am very quick to 
detect a face that I have once seen, and I recognised 
him in an instant.” 

“ Sibyl told me that he had a long chat with her, 
and she described him as a most charming fellow.” 

“ Ah, no doubt ! I suspected him and watched. 
It is evident that he came to my salon in order to 
meet her.” 

“ To meet Sibyl ! Why ? ” 

“ That I cannot tell.” 

“But I think, Baronne, we may be both agreed 
upon one point.” 

“ And that is ? ” 

“That the man who now calls himself Eodolphe 
Wolf is here in Paris with some secret motive.” 

“I am entirely in accord, m’sieur — quite. Some 
steps must at once be taken to ascertain that man’s 
motives.” 

“ It seems curious that he should have been intro- 
duced for the purpose of meeting Sibyl ! What infor- 
mation did he want from her ? ” 


At the Elys^e gi 

“ How can we tell ? You know better than myself 
whether she ever knows any secrets of the Embassy.” 

“ She knows nothing, — of that I am absolutely con- 
vinced,” I responded. “ Her father is devoted to her ; 
but, nevertheless, he is one of those strict diplomatists 
who do not believe in trusting women with secrets.” 

“Yet Wolf had a distinct object in making a good 
impression upon her,” she said reflectively. 

“ Ho doubt. As soon as she returned she began to 
talk of him.” 

And next instant I recollected the strange effect the 
news of his arrival in Paris had had upon Yolande, 
and the curiously tragic event which had subsequently 
occurred. All was puzzling — all inscrutable. 

A silence fell between us. I was revolving in my 
mind whether I should ask this wizen-faced old leader 
of Society a further question. With sudden resolve I 
turned to her again and asked ; 

“ O Baronne, I had quite forgotten. Do you chance 
to know the Countess de Foville, of Brussels? They 
have a chateau down in the Ardennes, and move in the 
best set in Belgium.” 

“ De F oville ? De F oville ? ” she repeated. “ What, 
do you mean the mother of that little witch Yo- 
lande ? ” 

“Yes. But why do you call her a witch?” I de- 
manded, with feigned laughter. 

“ Why ? ” cried the old woman, the expression of 
her face growing dark with displeasure. “ Well, I do 
not know whether she is a friend of yours, but all I 
can tell you is that should she be, the best course for 
you to pursue is to cut her acquaintance.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” I gasped. 

“ I mean exactly what I have said.” 


92 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ But I don’t understand,” I cried. “ Be more frank 
with me,” I implored. 

“ !N^o,” she answered in that hard voice, by which I 
knew that mention of Yolande’s name had displeased 
her. “ Eemember that we are friends, and that some- 
times we have interests in common. Therefore, take 
this piece of advice from an old woman who knows.” 

“ Knows what ? ” 

“Knows that your friendship with the pretty Yo- 
lande is dangerous — extremely dangerous.” 


CHAPTER X 


CONFESSION 

Next day, when the manservant asked me into the 
tiny boudoir in the Rue de Courcelles, I found Yolande, 
in a pretty tea-gown of cream silk adorned with lace 
and ribbons, seated in an armchair in an attitude of 
weariness. The sun-shutters were closed, as on the 
previous day, for the heat in Paris that July was in- 
sufferable, and in the dim light her wan figure looked 
very fair and fragile. The qualities which imparted 
to her a distinct individuality were the beautiful com- 
bination of the pastoral with the elegant — of simplicity 
with elevation — of spirit with sweetness. 

She gave vent to a cry of gladness as I entered, rose, 
and stretching out her hands in welcome, drew a seat 
for me close to her. I looked at her standing before 
me in her warm, breathing, human loveliness. 

‘‘ You are better, Yolande ? Ah ! how glad I am ! ” 
I commenced. “ Last night I believed that you were 
dead.” 

“ And if I had died would it really have mattered 
so very much to you ? ” she asked in a low, intense 
voice. “ You have forgotten me for three whole years 
until now.” 

“ I know — I know ! ” I cried. “ Forgive me.” 

“ I have already forgiven,” she said, allowing her 
hand still to remain in mine. “ But I have been think- 
ing to-day — thinking ever so much.” 

93 


94 


Her Majesty’s Minister . 

Her voice was weak and faltering, and I saw that 
she was not herself. 

“ Thinking of what ? ’’ 

“ Of you. I have been wondering whether, if I had 
died, you would have sometimes remembered me ? ” 

“ Kemembered you ? ” I said earnestly. “ Why, of 
course, dearest. Why do you speak in such a melan- 
choly tone ? ” 

“ Because — well, because I am unhappy, Gerald ! ” 
she cried, bursting into sudden tears. “ Ah ! you do 
not know how I suffer — you can never know ! ” 

I bent and stroked her hair, that beautiful red-gold 
hair that I had so often heard admired in the great 
salons in Brussels. It had been bound but lightly by 
her maid, and was secured by a blue ribbon. She had 
apologised for receiving me thus, but declared that her 
head ached, and it was easier so. Doctor Deane had 
called twice that morning, and had pronounced her 
entirely out of danger. 

“ But why are you suffering ? ” I asked, caressing 
her and striving to charm away her tears. “ Cannot 
you confide in me ? ” 

/She shook her head in despair, and her body was 
shaken by a convulsive sob. 

“ Surely there is confidence between us ? ” I urged. 
“ Do you not remember that day long ago when we 
walked one evening in the sunset hand-in-hand, as was 
our wont, along the river-path towards La Koche ? 
Do you not remember how you told me that in future 
you would have no single secret from me ? ’’ 

“ Yes,” she answered hoarsel}^, with an effort, “ I 
recollect.” 

Then you intend to break your promise to me ? ” 
I whispered earnestly. “ Surely you will not do this. 


Confession 


95 

Yolande? You will not hide from me the cause of 
all this bitterness of yours ? ” 

She was silent. Her breast, beneath its lace, rose 
quickly and fell again. Her tear-filled eyes were 
fixed upon the carpet. 

“ I would not break my promise,” she said at last, 
clasping my hand convulsively and lifting her eyes to 
mine ; “ but, alas ! it is now imperative.” 

“ Why imperative ? ” 

“ I must suffer alone,” she responded gloomily, shak- 
ing her head. Her countenance was as pale as her 
gown, and she shivered as though she were cold, al- 
though the noonday heat was suffocating. 

“ Because you refuse to tell me anything or allow 
me to assist you ? ” I said. “ This is not in accordance 
with the promise made and sealed by your lips on that 
evening long ago.” 

“Hor have your actions been in accordance with 
your own promise,” she said slowly and distinctly. 

“ To what do you refer ? ” 

You told me that you loved me, Gerald,” she said 
in a deep voice, suddenly grown calm. “You swore 
by all you held most sacred that I was all the world 
to you, and that no one should come between us. Yet 
past events have shown that you have forgotten those 
words of yours on the day when we idled in the Bois 
beneath the trees. You, too, remember that day, do 
you not — the day when our lips met for the first time, 
and we both believed our path would in future be 
strewn with flowers ? Ah ! ” she sighed, “ and what 
an awakening life has been to me since then ! ” 

“We parted because of your refusal to satisfy me 
as to the real state of your feelings towards the man 
who was my enemy,” I said rather warmly. 


96 Her Majesty's Minister 

“ But was it justifiable ? ” she asked in a tone of 
deep reproach and mingled sweetness. Her blue eyes 
looked full upon me — those eyes that had held me in 
such fascination in the golden days of youth. “ Has 
any single fact which you have since discovered veri- 
fied your suspicions ? Tell me truthfully ; ” and she 
leaned towards me in an attitude of deepest earnest- 
ness. 

“ Ho,” I answered honestly, “ I cannot say that my 
suspicions have ever been verified:” 

“And because of that you have returned to me 
when it is too late.” 

“ Too late ! ” I cried. “ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Exactly what I have said. You have come back 
to me when it is too late.” 

“You speak in enigmas, Yolande. Why not be 
more explicit ? ” 

Her pale lips trembled, her eyes were brimming 
with tears, her chilly hand quivered in mine. She 
did not speak for some moments, but at last said in a 
low, tremulous voice half choked by emotion : 

“Once you loved me, Gerald, — of that I feel con- 
fident ; and I reciprocated your affection, God knows ! 
Our love was, perhaps, curious, inasmuch as you were 
English and I was of a different creed and held differ- 
ent ideas from those which you considered right. It 
is always the same with a man and woman of differ- 
ent nationality — there must be a give-and-take princi- 
ple between them. Between us, however, there was 
perfect confidence until, by a strange combination of 
circumstances — by a stroke of the sword of Fate — 
that incident occurred which led to our estrange- 
ment.” 

She paused, her blanched lips shut tight. 


Confession 


97 


“Well?” I asked, “I am all attention. Why is it 
too late now for me to make reparation for the past ? ” 

I loved her with all my soul. I was heedless of 
those words of the old Baronne, of Anderson’s sus- 
picions, and Kaye’s denunciation. Even if she were a 
spy, I adored her. The fire of that old love had 
swept upon me, and I could not hold back, even 
though her touch might be as that of a leper and her 
lips venomous. 

“ Keparation is impossible,” she answered hoarsely. 
“ Is not that sufficient ? ” 

“ Ko, it is not sufficient,” I answered clearly. “ I 
will not be put off by such an answer.” 

“ It were better,” she cried — “ better that I had died 
yesterday than suffer like this. You rescued me from 
death only to torture me.” 

Her words aroused within me a distinct suspicion 
that her strange illness had been brought to pass be- 
cause, using some mysterious means, she had made an 
attempt against her own life. I believed that she had 
suffered, and was still suffering, from the effects of 
some poison, the exact nature of which neither Deane 
nor Trepard could as yet determine. 

“ I do not seek to torture you, dearest,” I protested. 
“ Far from it. I merely want to know the truth, in 
order that I may share your unhappiness, as your be- 
trothed ought to do.” 

“ But you are not my betrothed.” 

“I was once.” 

“But not now. You taunt me with breaking that 
promise which I made three years ago, yet you your- 
self it was who played me false — who left me for 
your prim, straight-laced English miss ! ” 

In an instant the truth was plain. She was aware 


98 Her Majesty’s Minister 

that I had transferred my affections to Edith ! Some 
one had told her — no doubt with a good many embel- 
lishments, or perhaps some scandalous story. In the 
salons through which we of the diplomatic circle are 
compelled to move, women’s tongues are ever at work 
match-making and mischief-making. On the Conti- 
nent love and politics run always hand-in-hand. That 
is the reason why the most notorious of the demi- 
monde in Paris, in Vienna, and in Berlin are the secret 
agents of their respective Governments ; and many 
are the honest men innocently denounced through 
jealousy and kindred causes. A false declaration of 
one or other of these unscrupulous spies has before 
now caused the downfall of a Ministry or the disgrace 
of a noble and patriotic politician. 

“ I know to whom you refer,” I said, with bowed 
head, after a moment’s pause. “It is currently re- 
ported that I love her. I have loved her. I do not 
seek to deny it. When a man sustains such a blow 
as I sustained before we parted, he often rushes to an- 
other woman for consolation. The influence of that 
second woman often prevents him from going to the 
bad altogether. It has been so in my case.” 

“And you love her now?” she cried, the fire of 
fierce jealousy in her eyes. “ You cannot deny it ! ” 

“ I do deny it,” I cried. “ True, until yesterday I 
held her in esteem, even in affection ; but it is not so 
now. All my love for you, Yolande, has returned to 
me. Our parting has rendered you dearer and sweeter 
to me than ever.” 

“ I cannot believe it,” she exclaimed falteringly. 

“ I swear that it is so. In all my life, although I 
am compelled to treat women with courtesy and some- 
times to affect flirtation, because of my profession as 


Confession 


99 


a diplomatist, I have loved only one woman — your- 
self ; ” and I raised her chilly hand to my lips, kissing 
it fervently. 

Mine was no mere caprice at that moment. With 
an all-consuming passion I loved her, and was pre- 
pared on her account to make any sacrifice she de- 
manded. Let the reader remember what had already 
been told me, and refiect that, like many another man, 
I loved madly, and was heedless of any consequences 
that might follow. In this particular I was not alone. 
Thousands before me had been allured to their ruin 
by a woman’s eyes, just as thousands of brave women’s 
hearts have been broken and their lives wrecked by 
men’s false oaths of fidelity. I have heard wiseacres 
say that the woman only suffers in such cases; the 
man never. Whether that rule proves always true 
will be shown in this strange story of my own love. 

She drew her hand away slowly, but forcibly, say- 
ing: 

“ You cannot love two women. Already you have 
shown a preference for a wife of your own people.” 

“It is all over between us,” I protested. “Mine 
was a mere passing fancy, engendered, I think, by the 
loneliness I suffered when I lost you.” 

“ Ah ” (she smiled sadly), “ that is all very well ! A 
woman, when once played false by the man she loves 
and trusts, is never the same — never ! ” 

“ Then am I to understand, Yolande, that you refuse 
to pardon me, or to accept my affection ? ” 

“ I have already pardoned you,” she faltered ; “ but 
to accept the love you once withdrew from me with- 
out just reason is, I regret to say, impossible.” 

“You speak coldly, as though you were refusing a 
mere invitation to dinner, or something of no greater 
0 . 


100 Her Majesty’s Minister 

importance,” I protested. “ I offer you my whole 
heart, my love — nay, my life ; ” and I held her hand 
again, looking straight into those wonderful eyes, now 
so calm, so serious, that my gaze wavered before them. 

Slowly she shook her head, and her trembling 
breast rose and fell again. 

“ Ours was a foolish infatuation,” she answered with 
an effort. “ It is best that we should both of us forget.” 

“ Forget ! ” I cried. “ But I can never forget you, 
Yolande. You are my love. You are all the world 
to me.” 

Her eyes were grave, and I saw that tears stood in 
them. 

“Ho,” she protested quietly ; “do not say that. I 
cannot be any more to you than other women whom 
you meet daily. Besides, I know well that in the 
diplomatic service marriage is a serious drawback to 
any save an ambassador.” 

“ When a man is in love as I am with you, dearest, 
he throws all thoughts of his career to the winds ; 
personal interests are naught where true love is con- 
cerned.” 

“You must not — nay, you shall not — wreck your 
future on my account,” she declared in a low, intense 
voice. “It is not just either to yourself or to the 
Englishwoman who loves you.” 

“Why do you taunt me with that, Yolande?” I 
asked reproachfully. “I do not love her. I have 
never truly loved her. I was lonely after you had 
gone out of my life, and she was amusing, — that was 
all.” 

“ And now you find me equally amusing — eh ? ” she 
remarked, with just a touch of bitter sarcasm. 

“Why should you be jealous of her?” I asked. 


Confession 


101 


“You might just as well be jealous of Sibyl, Lord 
Barmouth’s daughter.” 

“ With the latter you are certainly on terms of most 
intimate friendship,” she answered with a smile. “ I 
really wonder that I did not object to her in the 
days long ago.” 

“ Ah ! ” I laughed, “ you certainly had no cause. It 
is true that we have been good friends ever since the 
day when she arrived home from the convent-school 
at Bruges, a prim young miss with her hair tied up 
with ribbon. Thrown constantly together, as we 
were, I became her male confidant and intimate 
friend ; hence my licence to give her counsel in many 
matters and sometimes to criticise those actions of 
which I don’t approve.” 

“ Then if that is so, you care a little for her — just a 
little ? E’ow admit it.” 

“ I don’t admit anything of the kind,” I answered 
frankly. “For five years we have been constantly 
together; and times without number, at Lady Bar- 
mouth’s request, I have acted as her escort here and 
there, until she looks upon me as a kind of necessary 
appendage who has a right to chaff her about her 
flirtations and annoy her by judicious sarcasm. I 
don’t entertain one single spark of love for her. In 
brief, she has developed into an essentially smart girl, 
in the true sense of the word, and by reason of our 
constant companionship knows that to attempt a flir- 
tation with me would result in a most dismal failure. 
I accused her once, not long ago, of having designs 
upon my heart, whereupon she replied that to accom- 
plish such a thing would be about as easy as to win 
the affection of the bronze Neptune in the garden- 
fountain of the Embassy.” 


102 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ You have been seen together a great deal of 
late?” 

“ Who told you so ? ” 

“ A friend who knows you both.” Then she added : 
“ From my information I hear that last season you 
danced so much with her and were so constantly at 
her side that people were talking of a match between 
you.” 

“ Eidiculous ! ” I exclaimed. “ Of course gossips 
are always too ready to jump to ill-formed conclusions. 
As one of the staff of the Embassy, and her most inti- 
mate male friend, it was onl}^ courtesy to take her 
beneath my care. When she had no other partner 
and wanted to dance, then she sometimes asked me. 
I think she did it to annoy me, for she knew that I 
was never fond of dancing.” 

“ Do you remember the Countess of Flanders’ balls 
at Brussels — how we danced together ? ” she re- 
marked. 

“Bemember them!” I echoed. “They were in 
the golden days when everything seemed to our 
eyes couleur de rose — the days when our love was 
perfect.” 

She sighed again, but no word escaped her. She 
was, I knew, reflecting upon those blissful days and 
nights when we met here and there at all hours and 
at all the best houses in Brussels, dining, lunching, 
dancing, and gossiping — together always. 

“ Will you not resolve to forget the past, Yolande ? ” 
I asked fervently, taking her hand in mine again. 
“ Come, tell me that you will — that you will not hold 
me aloof like this ? I cannot bear it — indeed I can’t, 
for I love you ; ” and I bent until my lips touched her 
finger-tips. 


Confession 


103 

“ I cannot ! ” she cried at last, with an effort rising 
and firmly withdrawing her hand from my grasp. 

“You cannot? Why?” I demanded, taken some- 
what aback by her sudden attitude of determination. 

“ I will not allow you to ruin yourself, Gerald, on 
my account,” she declared in a very low but calm 
voice. 

“ But why should my love for you prove my ruin ? ” 
I cried madly. “ The truth is that you do not love 
me. Why not admit it at once ? ” 

“ You are in error,” she hastened to protest. “I do 
love you. I love you to-day with the same fond 
affection as I entertained for you until that day — fatal 
to me — when you turned your back upon me and left 
me. But, alas ! we can never now be the same to one 
another as we were then.” She paused for a moment 
to regain breath ; then, pale-faced, with eyes filled 
Avith tears, she gripped my arm frantically, crying : 
“ Gerald, my love, hear me ! These are my last words, 
but I pronounce them — I make confession — so that 
you may understand the barrier that now lies between 
us.” 

“ Well,” I said, “ speak — tell me ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” she cried hoarsely, covering her face with 
her hands, “ you wring this confession from me. I am 
the most unhappy girl in all the world. Would that 
I were dead — that it was all ended ! If I did not love 
you, Gerald, I should deceive you, and leave you to 
discover the truth after our marriage. But I cannot 
— I cannot ! Even though we shall part to-day for- 
ever, I have resolved to be frank with you because I 
still have one single spark of honesty left within my 
heart ! ” 

“ I don’t understand,” I exclaimed. “ Tell me.” 


104 Majesty’s Minister 

“ Then listen,” she said in a hard, unnatural voice, 
after a few moments of hesitation. “ When we were 
lovers in the old days I was, as you know, a pure, 
honest, upright woman, with thoughts only for my 
God and for yourself. But I am that no longer. I 
am unworthy your love, Gerald. I am unfit to be 
your wife, and can never be — never ! ” and she threw 
herself upon the couch near by and burst into a flood 
of tears, while I stood there rigid as a statue. 


CHAPTER XI 


DEANE SPEAKS HIS MIND 

An hour later I was seated in my room at the Em- 
bassy staring blankly at the blotting-pad before me, 
utterly perplexed and bewildered. I loved Yolande 
— nay, she was my idol ; nevertheless she had firmly 
refused to allow me to resume my place at her side. 
At one moment it seemed to me as though she had 
actually m^^de a sacrifice for my sake ; yet at another 
I could not help regarding both her and her mother 
with distinct suspicion. My love’s strange words were 
in themselves a sufiicient self-condemnation. Her 
service as a political agent had been secured by one or 
other of the Powers — France, I suspected; and, to 
put it plainly, she was a spy ! 

This knowledge had come upon me like a thunder- 
bolt. Of all the women I had known and least sus- 
pected of endeavouring to learn the secrets of our 
diplomacy, Yolande was certainly the chief. The 
events which had culminated in her accepting this 
odious ofiBce were veiled in mystery. Why had she 
done this ? Who had tempted her or forced her to it ? 

Those tears of hers, when she had made confession, 
were the tears of a woman in the depths of despair 
and degradation, and I, loving her so fondly, could 
not but allow my heart to go forth in sympathy. 
There was an afiinity between us that I knew might 
some day prove fatal 


105 


io6 Her Majesty’s Minister 

But we had parted. She had announced her inten- 
tion of leaving Paris, accompanied by her mother, on 
the morrow, and had begged and implored that I would 
never seek her again. 

“I shall take care to evade you,” she had said. 
“ To-day we meet for the last time. We must each go 
our own way and strive our hardest to forget.” 

Ah ! to forget would, I knew, be impossible. When 
a man has loved as ardently and intensely as I loved 
Yolande, memories cling to him and are carried to the 
grave. You, reader, have loved in those half-forgot- 
ten days of long ago, and even now, with ago creeping 
on, and, perchance, with grey hairs showing, some- 
times give a passing thought to that fair one who in 
youth’s golden days was your all in all. The sound 
of a song, the momentary perfume from a woman’s 
chiffons as she passes, the sight of some long-forgotten 
scene, stirs the memory and recalls those hours of love 
and laziness when the world was so very pleasant and 
seemed to have been made for you alone. You recol- 
lect her sweet smile, her calm, womanly influence, her 
full red lips, and the fervency of her kisses. The 
tender memory to-day is sweet, even though it be 
tinged with bitterness, for you wonder whom she has 
married, and how she has fared ; you wonder, too, if 
you will ever meet again, or whether she is already 
dead. The most charming reflection permitted to man 
is the memory of a half-forgotten love. 

I had been a fool. This bitter truth was forced 
upon me as I sat there ruminating. I had cast aside 
that patience and discretion which I, as a diplomatist, 
had carefully cultivated, and had actually contem- 
plated marriage with a woman who had been de- 
nounced by Kaye as a secret agent. My own peril 


Deane Speaks His Mind 107 

had been a grave one indeed, and as I reflected I be- 
gan to wonder bow it was that I should have so com- 
pletely lost my self-control. True, indeed, it is that 
love is blind. 

I drew forth a sheet of note-paper and penned her a 
long, fervent letter, expressing a hope that some day 
we might meet again, and declaring that my affection 
for her would last forever. What mad words I wrote 
I almost forget. All I know is that even then I could 
not hold back, so deep and intense was my love for 
her, so completely did she hold me beneath the spell 
of her beauty. I tried to put the letter aside for 
calmer reflection, but could not. My pen ran on, re- 
cording the eloquence of my heart. Then, sealing it, 
I addressed it, rang for the messenger of the Embassy, 
and gave him instructions to take it to her. 

“ There is no answer, m’sieur ? ” the man inquired. 

“ None,” I answered. 

Then the door closed again, and I was alone. 

Yes, I saw now how great and all-consuming was my 
love for this woman who was a spy, and who had ac- 
tually confessed herself worthless. Fate had indeed 
played me a sorry trick at this, the greatest crisis of 
my life. 

Some ten minutes later Harding entered, saying : 

“ Doctor Deane has called, and wishes to see you, sir.” 

I at once gave orders for his admission, and in a few 
moments he came across the thick pile carpet with 
hand outstretched. 

“ Hulloa, Ingram, old chap ! ” he cried, glancing at 
me in quick surprise, “ what’s the matter ? You don’t 
look yourself.” 

“ Oh, nothing,” I answered with ill-feigned careless- 
ness. “ A bit worried, that’s all.” 


io8 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ Worried over mademoiselle — eh ? ” he asked, fixing 
me with his keen eyes. 

I nodded in the aflirmative. 

“ Ah, I guessed as much,” he replied, with a sigh, 
placing his hat on the table and flinging himself into 
a chair. “ Mind if I smoke ? I’ve been busy all day, 
and am dying for a weed.” 

“ Smoke ? Why, of course,” I answered, pushing my 
cigars and some matches before him. 

I took one also, thinking that it might soothe my 
nerves, and when we had lit up he leaned back in his 
chair, and, looking at me curiously through the smoke, 
asked at last : 

“ What has occurred between you ? Mademoiselle 
is leaving Paris to-morrow.” 

How did you know ? ” 

“ I called half an hour ago, and found both her and 
the Countess making preparations for a hasty depar- 
ture. Have you quarrelled again ? ” 

“ Ho, there .is no quarrel between us,” I answered 
gravely. “ On the contrary, there is a perfect under- 
standing.” 

An incredulous smile crossed his features. 

“Well,” he said, “I don’t know, after all, what 
right I have to interfere in your private affairs at all, 
old chap, but if I might be allowed to make an obser- 
vation I should say that there is some very extraordi- 
nary mystery surrounding both the Countess and her 
daughter.” 

“ You don’t like the Countess ? ” 

“Ho, I don’t. I conceived a violent prejudice 
against her on the first occasion that I saw her. That 
prejudice has already ripened into — well, I was about 
to say hatred,” 


Deane Speaks His Mind 109 

«Why?’» 

“Well, I called upon them this afternoon with an 
object, and found the Countess determined to place 
impediments in my way.” 

“ What was your object ? ” 

“ I wished to satisfy myself of a certain fact.” 

“ Of what fact ? ” I inquired with quick suspicion. 

“ Of the cause of her daughter’s sudden attack last 
night.” 

“ And what did you find ? ” I asked eagerly. 

“I discovered a rather curious circumstance,” he 
said. “ You will remember telling me that when you 
searched the room you found she had written a letter 
almost immediately before her mysterious attack. 
Well, when I had a look round that room later I saw 
the letter sealed in its envelope and addressed to the 
Baroness Maillac, at Grand Sablons, lying in the little 
letter-rack, and took possession of it, in the faint hope 
that it might direct me to some clue as to the cause of 
her curious condition. You will remember, too, the 
curious, unaccountable mark upon her lip. I wished to 
see that mark again. I examined it, but against the 
wish of the Countess, who appeared to regard me with 
considerable animosity.” 

“What was in the letter? You opened it, of 
course ? ” 

“Yes, I opened it, but the note inside was of no 
interest whatever. ^Nevertheless, I had my suspicions, 
and have proved them to be well grounded.” 

“ What have you proved ? ” 

“Briefiy this: the mark upon mademoiselle’s lip 
caused me to suspect poisoning ; yet it was apparent 
that she had not attempted suicide, but that the poison, 
whatever its nature, had entered the tiny crack in the 


no Her Majesty’s Minister 

lip by accident. I therefore came to the conclusion 
that her lip had come into contact with some baneful 
substance immediately prior to her attack, and when 
you mentioned the writing of the letter it appeared to 
me that the gum upon the envelope might be the 
channel by which the poison was conveyed to the 
mouth. The greater part of the night I spent in 
dissolving the gum and making experiments with the 
solutions thus obtained.” 

“ And what did you discover ? ” 

“ I discovered the presence of a most powerful spe- 
cific irritant poison. I used Mitscherlich’s method of 
detection, and although I cannot yet actually deter- 
mine the poison with which the gum on the envelope 
had been impregnated, I proved its terrible effect by 
experiments. A rabbit inoculated with a single drop 
of the solution died, in fourteen seconds, of complete 
paralysis of the muscles, while a drop placed on a 
piece of meat and given to a cat proved fatal within 
one minute.” 

“Then there was poison on the envelope?” I 
gasped, astounded. 

“ Yes, but only upon that particular envelope. 
While left alone in the room awaiting mademoiselle, 
I secured four other of the same envelopes from the 
stationery rack on her escritoire. These I took home 
at once, made solutions, and tested them upon rabbits 
without effect. This proved that one envelope alone 
was poisoned.” 

“ Then she was actually poisoned ? ” I said, surprised 
at his ingenuity and careful investigation. 

“Undoubtedly so. The most curious feature is the 
mysterious character of the poison. At first I sus- 
pected strychnia 5 but as that attacks the sensitive 


Ill 


Deane Speaks His Mind 

portion of the spinal nervous system, and the symp- 
toms were so totally different, I was compelled to 
abandon that theory, as also another I formed — 
namely, that the paralysis of the motor nerves might 
be due to curare. After some hours of study and ex- 
periment, however, I found that the poison was one 
extremely difficult of detection when absorbed into 
the system — that its symptoms were none of those 
ordinarily attributed to irritant poisons by Tanner 
and the other toxicologists — that it was a poison not 
commonly known, if, indeed, known at all.” 

“ Then you think that Yolande was the victim of a 
deliberate attempt upon her life ? ” 

“ Of that I am absolutely convinced. Having taken 
possession of the letter, I could not well mention it or 
make inquiries regarding it. I thought it would be 
best to leave such inquiries to you, who are her inti- 
mate friend. I went there to-day in order to satisfy 
myself regarding the mark on the lip, and also to se- 
cure some of the other envelopes. Both of these ob- 
jects I fortunately accomplished, and have succeeded 
in establishing the fact that she was poisoned in a 
most ingenious and secret manner by some person 
who is evidently no novice in the use of that most 
deadly and mysterious substance.” 

“ But whom do you suspect ? ” 

He blew a cloud of smoke from his lips, and, with 
his eyes fixed upon the panelled ceiling, answered : 

“ Ah ! that’s the enigma.” 

“Well,” I said, after a pause, “you seem so hostile 
towards the Countess, I’m wondering if you suspect 
her?” 

“ I can’t very well, even though there are several 
curious circumstances which seem to point in that 


112 Her Majesty’s Minister 

direction. The great fact in favour of her innocence 
is that she sent for you. Therefore I should like to 
obtain more direct evidence before actually condem- 
ning her. Some of the circumstances are distinctly 
suspicious, even damning, yet others go far to prove 
the exact contrary.” 

“ But I can’t see what object she could have in get- 
ting rid of her daughter,” I observed, much puzzled 
by this extraordinary theory. 

“ Unless she feared some awkward revelations which 
Yolande might make in a moment of desperation. To 
me there is still a good deal of mystery surrounding 
both mother and daughter.” 

“ I quite agree, Dick. But do you think it possible 
that a mother could deliberately attempt to kill her 
daughter by such dastardly means ? I don’t.” 

“Such a thing is not unknown in the annals of 
crime,” he answered, knocking the ash slowly from 
his cigar. “You see, it is practically plain that Yo- 
lande is in possession of some secret, and has grown 
nervous and melancholy. Of the nature of that secret 
we have no idea. If it were disclosed it might seri- 
ously affect the Countess ; hence it would be to the 
latter’s advantage if her daughter’s lips were sealed.” 

“ But, my dear fellow, I know the Countess well. 
She’s one of the most charming of women, and 
utterly devoted to Yolande. Your suggestion seems 
incredible.” 

“ How incredible it appears to you is of no import, 
my dear Ingram,” he answered calmly. “You asked 
me to investigate the strange affair for you, and I’ve 
done so to the best of my ability. I found that the 
young lady had been poisoned, in a most secret and 
ingenious manner, by some one well acquainted with 


Deane Speaks His Mind 113 

the use of the unknown drug. That the envelope 
was carefully prepared is quite plain, but by whom it 
is impossible to say ” 

“ 'Not by her mother,” I declared, interrupting him. 
“ I can’t believe that.” 

“ It is for you to discover that. You can ask her a 
little later about the letter, without giving her any 
clue to the fact that I have secured it. She must re- 
main under the impression that the letter was duly 
posted by one of the servants.” 

‘‘ But she is leaving Paris,” I said. 

“ You can see her this evening and make the neces- 
sary inquiries, surely ? ” 

“ Ho,” I responded. “ I shall not see her again.” 

“ Then it is true, as I’ve already suggested, that 
you’ve quarrelled ? ” 

“Ho,” I declared, “ we have agreed to part again — 
that’s all.” 

He was silent for a moment, contemplating the end 
of his cigar. Then he observed : 

“Well, if I may be permitted to say so, old fellow, 
I think you’ve chosen a very wise course. You, in 
your official position, ought not to be mixed up with 
any mystery of this sort.” 

“ I know, Dick — I know quite well,” I responded 
hastily. “You, however, do not love a woman as I 
love Yolande.” 

“ Love be hanged ! ” he cried, laughing. “ Love is 
like the influenza — painful while it lasts, but easily 
forgotten.” 

“This matter is too serious for joking,” I said, a 
trifle annoyed by his flippancy. 

“ Ah, I’ve heard that story once or twice before ! 
It is astonishing what a difference a month makes in 


114 Majesty’s Minister 

the course of the malady. Take my tip, old chap, and 
think no more of her. Depend upon it, your charming 
Yolande with the pretty hair, that used to be admired 
so much in Brussels, is not worth the position of wife 
to a good fellow like you.” 

“That’s all very well,” I sighed. “ I know I was a 
fool to have called upon her, but I was compelled.” 

“ What compelled you ? ” 

“ A circumstance over which I had no control,” I 
answered, for I did not intend to explain to him the 
accusation made against her by Kaye. 

“ And you at once fell in love with her again ? Ah ! 
such meetings are always extremely dangerous.” 

“Yes; that is only too true. I know I have been 
foolish, and now must suffer.” 

“ Kubbish ! ” he cried. “ Why, my dear fellow, 
Edith loves you, and is perfectly devoted to you. She 
is charming, pretty, smart, with all the qualities neces- 
sary for the wife of a successful diplomatist. Some 
day, when you get your promotion, you will be 
gazetted minister to one or other of the South Ameri- 
can Kepublics, and with her as your wife you’ll 
be perfectly happy.” 

“ You seem to have already carved out my future 
for me, Dick.” 

“ I’ve only prophesied the ordinary course of things.” 

“ I shall, I feel certain, never marry Edith,” I an- 
swered, shaking my head. “ It is entirely out of the 
question.” 

“Well, we shall see. A man hardly ever marries 
his first love, you know. There always seems an evil 
fortune connected with first loves.” 

“ How coldly philosophical you are, Dick ! Is it be- 
cause you’ve never been in love ? ” 


Deane Speaks His Mind 1 1 y 

“I^ever been in love?’’ he echoed. “Why, my 
dear old fellow, I’ve been in love a hundred times, 
but it’s never been sufficiently serious to cause me to 
pop the question. I’m quite catholic in my tastes, 
you see. I’m fond of women as a sex.” 

What he said was perfectly true. He was a popu- 
lar favourite among the English colony in Paris, and 
was an inveterate diner-out. Indeed, his well-set-up 
figure was constantly to be seen at all smart gather- 
ings, and I had overheard many a dainty Parisienne 
whisper nice things about him behind her fan. 

“ You’ll find a pair of eyes fascinating you one of 
these days, never fear,” I said. “ Then it will be my 
turn to smile.” 

“Smile away, old chap; you’ll never offend me. 
We are too old friends for that.” 


CHAPTER XII 


THE ENGLISH TEA-SHOP 

Theke was a rap at the door, and Harding entered 
with a telegram addressed to me. I tore open the 
flimsy blue paper, and saw that it was in cipher from 
Berlin. The sender, I knew, was Kaye. 

“ What’s up ? ” my friend asked. “ Some affair of 
State ? ” 

“ Yes,” I answered mechanically, as I went across 
to the safe, and took out the decipher-book which gave 
the key to the cipher used by members of the secret 
service. By its aid I had quickly transcribed the 
message, which read : 

“ Suspicions regarding Yolande de Foville 
proved beyond doubt. She is a French agent em- 
ployed indirectly by the Quai Or say. Am re- 
turning to-night. In the meantime instruct Os- 
borne to keep strict observation upon her move- 
ments. 


“Anything serious?” asked Deane, watching my 
face. 

I held my breath, and managed to recover my self- 
possession. 

“Xo,” I answered, “nothing of any grave impor- 
tance. I sit here to deal with a strange variety of 
116 


The English Tea-Shop 117 

public business, ranging from despatches from home 
down to vice-consul’s worries.” 

“We are not at war yet,” he laughed, “and we 
trust to you diplomatists to keep us out of it.” 

I smiled, rather sadly I think. Little did my friend 
dream how near we actually were to hostilities with 
France. But in the school of diplomacy the first 
lesson taught is that of absolute secrecy ; hence I told 
him nothing. To be patient, to preserve silence, to 
be able to give to an untruth the exact appearance of 
the truth, and to act a lie so as to deceive those with 
the most acute intelligence on earth, are qualifications 
absolutely necessary — together, of course, with the 
stipulated private income of four hundred a year — for 
the success of the rising diplomatist. 

“We are trying to keep England out of war,” I 
said. “ Indeed, that is the principal object of our ex- 
istence. Were it not for the efforts of Lord Barmouth, 
we should have been at war with the Kepublic long 
ago. Why, scarcely a week passes but the political 
situation changes, and we find ourselves, just as the 
French also find themselves, sitting on the edge of the 
proverbial volcano. Then, by careful adjustment and 
marvellous tact and* finesse, matters are arranged, and 
once more the ships of State sail together again into 
smooth waters. Only ourselves, in this Embassy, are 
really alive to the heavy responsibilities resting on the 
shoulders of our trusted Chief. Many a sleepless night 
he passes in his own room opposite, I can assure you.” 

“ And yet he is always merry and good-humoured, 
as though he hadn’t a single care in the world.” 

“ Ah, that is owing to his long training as a diplo- 
matist. He shows no outward sign of anxiety, for 
that would betray weakness or vacillation of policy. 


li8 Her Majesty’s Minister 

An ambassador’s face should never be an index to his 
thoughts.” 

He tossed his cigar-end away and rose, asking : 

“ Where are you feeding to-night ? Can you dine 
with me at Ledoyen’s — or at the Cafe de Paris, if you 
prefer it ? ” 

“Sorry I can’t, old chap,” I responded. “The 
Chief and I have a dinner engagement at the Austrian 
Embassy. I’d much rather be with you ; for, as you 
know, I’m tired to death of official functions.” 

“ You’re bound to attend them, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes, worse luck,” I replied. “ To be a diplomatist 
one must, like a Lord Mayor, possess an ostrich’s di- 
gestion.” 

“ Well, good-bye, old chap. Sorry you can’t come,” 
he said, smiling. “ But do buck up ! I don’t want to 
have you as a patient, you know. Take my advice, 
and just forget your pretty charmer. She’s leaving 
to-morrow, and there’s no reason on earth why you 
should meet again.” 

“ But about that letter ? ” I suggested. “We surely 
ought to clear up the mystery ? ” 

“ Let it pass,” he urged. “ Don’t call there again, 
but simply forget her. Kemember, you have Edith.” 

His words recalled to me the fact that I had re- 
ceived a letter from her that morning, and that it was 
still in my pocket unopened. 

“Yes, I know,” I exclaimed rather impatiently. 
“ I shall, of course, try to forget. But I fear that I 
shall never succeed — never ! ” 

“ Take my advice and forget it all,” he cried cheer- 
fully, clapping me on the back. “ Good-bye.” 

We clasped hands in a firm grip of friendship. 
Then he walked out, and I was left alone. 


The English Tea-Shop i ig 

I went to the window, and looked down into the 
roadway. It was a blazing afternoon, and the streets 
seemed deserted. All Paris was at Trouville, Dieppe, 
or Arcachon, or drinking the more or less palatable 
waters in Auvergne. Paris in July is always more 
empty than is London in that month, and it is cer- 
tainly many degrees hotter, even though the plashing 
fountains of the Place de la Concorde may give one a 
pleasant feeling of refreshment in passing, and the 
trees of the boulevards shed a welcome shade not 
found in the dusty streets of dear old grimy London. 

As I stood gazing aimlessly out of the window, it 
suddenly occurred to me that I had still in rny pocket 
the letter which I had found on Yolande’s little writ- 
ing-table — the letter making an appointment for five 
o’clock that day. I glanced at my watch, and found 
it was already half-past four. 

Then, taking out the note, I carefully read it 
through, and, after a few moments’ debate within 
myself, determined to stroll round and ascertain 
who it was who wished so particularly to speak with 
her. 

I do not think, now that I reflect calmly, that this 
determination was prompted by any feeling of jeal- 
ousy, but rather by a strong desire to discover the 
truth regarding her connection with the Quai d’Orsay. 
Anyhow, I brushed my hair, settled my cravat, re- 
placed the decipher-book in the safe, and, taking my 
hat, strolled out into the blazing afternoon. 

Would she herself keep the appointment, I won- 
dered ? Surely not ! She was too busy making prep- 
arations for a hasty departure. Nevertheless, she 
might have sent a message to her mysterious corre- 
spondent regretting her inability to be present. Any- 


120 Her Majesty’s Minister 

how, I was determined to watch and ascertain for 
myself. 

The English tea-shop in the Hue Royale is known, I 
dare say, to a good many of my lady readers who go 
shopping in the Madeleine quarter, bargain-hunting in 
the Louvre, or strolling about the grand boulevards 
watching Parisian life in all its many phases. Tea 
such as that to which English people are accustomed 
is difficult to obtain in Paris hotels. It usually turns 
out to be slightly discoloured hot water, served in a 
teapot upon the spout of which hangs a more or less 
useless strainer. With the addition of sugar and milk, 
the beverage becomes both weak to the eye and nause- 
ous to the palate, while in the bill at a first-class hotel 
the unfortunate visitor finds himself charged two 
francs for “one tea simple.” The English shop in 
the Rue Royale, known to the Englishman in Paris as 
the “ Bun-shop,” is like Henry’s, or the American bar 
at the Chatham, where presides the ubiquitous Johnnie 
with the small moustache, one of the institutions of 
the English colony. It is a rendezvous for the ladies, 
just as the Chatham bar is crowded at four o’clock by 
Englishmen resident in the gay capital, with a sprink- 
ling of those misguided and decadent Paris youths 
who term themselves Orleanists and play at political 
conspiracy. 

The “ Bun-shop ” is generally full from four to five, 
be it summer or winter. In the season it is patron- 
ised largely by chic Parisiennes and their male 
encumbrances, generally laden with small parcels; 
while in summer the British tourists in their blouses 
and short tailor-made skirts, which serve alike for 
the boulevards and the Alps, seem to scent it out 
and make it their habitual house of call. 


121 


The English Tea-Shop 

"When I strolled in, the crowd at the little tables 
mostly hailed from those essentially British hotels in 
the Kue Caumartin. Being a Britisher, I naturally 
hesitate to criticise the get-up of the tourist to Paris. 
But it is always a matter of speculation to those of us 
who live abroad why our compatriot, who would not 
be seen in a golf-cap in the Strand or Piccadilly, 
invariably sports one when he patronises the bou- 
levards, and conducts himself, when in what he calls 
‘‘gay Paree,” in a fashion which often makes one 
think that he has left his manners behind in England 
together with his silk hat. The fair-faced English 
girl in cotton blouse and straw hat is always a com- 
mon object in the “ Bun-shop,” and on this afternoon 
she was predominant, and the chatter in English was 
general. 

I found one of the little tables free, and, discover- 
ing an illustrated paper, sat with it before me, making 
an examination of each little group visible from my 
seat. ]^ot a single person, however, excited my 
suspicion. Apparently no one was waiting, save a 
girl in black, a Parisienne evidently, who, being 
joined presently by a gentleman, finished her tea and 
went forth. 

The clock showed it to be already five, and as I 
sat sipping my cup and feigning to read the Graphic, 
I became more and more convinced that Yolande, 
finding herself unable to keep the appointment, had 
sent an excuse. 

About me sounded the gossip which one always 
hears among the feminine tourists in Paris: the 
criticisms of the Louvre museum, the eulogies of the 
“ lovely things ” in the Kue de la Paix, and the de- 
light at wonderful bargains obtained at the Bon 


122 Her Majesty’s Minister 

Marche. It is always the same. The tide of tour- 
ists is never-ceasing ; and the impression which Paris 
makes upon the Englishman or Englishwoman is 
always exactly similar. Those who spend a fortnight 
in the City of Pleasure always believe life there to 
be a round of gaiety punctuated by fetes de nuit 
with Moulin Kouge attractions. These idolaters 
should live a year in Paris, when they would soon 
discover that the French capital quickly becomes far 
more monotonous than their own much-abused 
London. 

The hands of the clock moved very slowly, and by 
degrees I got through the whole of the cup-marked 
illustrated literature of the establishment. Many of 
the merry gossips had risen and departed, and at half- 
past five only two little groups remained. 

At length a smart victoria stopped before the door, 
and a dark, rather handsome, middle-aged, elegantly 
dressed woman descended, and, entering, took a seat. 
Her style was not English, that was certain ; and by 
the fact that she took lemon with her tea I judged 
her to be Kussian, although she addressed the waiter 
with an accent purely Parisian. Her footman stood 
at the door with the carriage-rug over his arm. 
From the inquisitive expression of her face I judged 
it to be the first time she had visited the tea-shop. 

Could she be waiting for Yolande ? I made a close 
examination of her face, and saw that although she 
was just a trifle made-up, as are most Parisiennes, she 
was nevertheless good-looking. She sipped her tea 
leisurely, nibbled a biscuit, and was readjusting her 
veil by twisting it beneath her chin, when suddenly 
the silhouette of a figure appeared in the open door- 
way. 


123 


The English Tea-Shop 

I glanced up quickly over the top of my paper, and 
in an instant recognised the newcomer, who looked 
very smart in his well-cut frock-coat, silk hat, and 
light grey suede gloves. He hesitated for an instant 
on the threshold and glanced swiftly around. Ho 
sooner had his eyes fallen upon the woman sitting 
there than he turned instantly, went out, and was 
next moment lost to sight. 

The man who had stood in the doorway during 
that brief moment, and who had apparently retreated 
owing to the presence of the woman whose carriage 
was awaiting her, was none other than the individual 
whose arrival in Paris was so inexplicable — the man 
known as Kodolphe Wolf. 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE spy’s KEPOET 

So swiftly did the figure disappear from the door- 
way of the patisserie that I doubt whether the ele- 
gant woman there seated had been aware of his 
presence. She was sitting with her face half turned 
from the door, and, unless by means of the mirror, 
she could not possibly have witnessed his sudden 
hesitation and disappearance. That he intended 
entering there, and had been prevented by her pres- 
ence, was manifest. He had no desire to be seen by 
her, that was quite evident. 

Again it seemed as though Yolande’s mysterious 
correspondent was actually this man, whose presence 
in Paris had caused her so much anxiety. 

A sudden impulse led me to go forth and keep 
watch upon his movements, and as I passed out I 
took note of the fine equipage, and saw that upon 
the harness was a duke’s coronet, beneath which was 
a cipher so intricate that I could not unravel it. The 
woman within was evidently some notability, but a 
foreigner; otherwise I should have recognised her, 
knowing as I did, by sight, all smart Paris. Her 
attitude, seated at that little table sipping her tea and 
lemon, was so calm that I felt assured she was not 
there for the purpose of meeting Yolande, but only 
for rest and a cup of that refreshing decoction so 
dear to the feminine palate. Nevertheless, I was 
124 


The Spy’s Report 125 

puzzled to know who she was, and why her presence 
had had such a terrifying effect upon the man who 
had come and fled like a shadow. 

I hurried along in the direction he had taken, down 
to the Place de la Concorde. Whether he had really 
detected my presence or not I was undecided. I 
believed and hoped not. I had had a paper before my 
face at the moment of his appearance, and it had 
seemed to me that when his eyes fell upon the lady 
sipping her tea, he did not pause to make further 
investigation. I was looking for him eagerly among 
the hurrying foot-passengers, when, just as I turned 
the corner by the grey wall of the Ministry of Marine, 
I saw his thin, tall figure cross the road and mount 
upon the imperiale of one of the omnibuses going 
towards the Bastille. At the same moment a second 
omnibus passed, travelling in the same direction, down 
the Rue de Rivoli, and without hesitation I jumped 
upon it, and, also mounting the imperiale, was thus 
able to follow him without much risk of detection. I 
kept my eyes upon his glossy silk hat some distance 
ahead as we travelled along the fine, broad thorough- 
fare, past the Continental, the Tuileries Gardens, the 
Louvre, and the quaint old Tour St. Jacques, until 
both vehicles pulled up at the corner of the wide Place 
de I’Hotel de Yille, where he descended. 

I quickly ran down the steps, and, sauntering along 
with affected carelessness, followed him across the 
Place and along to the Quai des Celestins, where he 
suddenly halted, glanced quickly around as though 
desiring to escape observation, and then entered an 
uninviting-looking door of one of those rickety dwell- 
ings which are among the most ancient and most 
unwholesome in Paris. The door he entered seemed 


126 Her Majesty’s Minister 

to be the private entrance to a dingy little shop that 
sold fishing-tackle, wicker eel-traps, and such-like 
necessities for the angler. The manner in which he 
entered was distinctly suspicious, but I congratulated 
myself that, while he had not detected me, I had run 
him to earth. 

He was a smart, rather foppish man of military 
appearance, though somewhat foreigii-looking ; thin- 
faced, black-haired, with a small, black, pointed beard, 
and a pair of cold grey eyes, sharp and penetrating ; 
an erect, rather imposing, figure, which if once seen 
impressed itself upon one. Outwardly he bore the 
stamp of good breeding and superiority, and he now 
called himself Kodolphe Wolf. It was strange — very 
strange. 

I noted the house he had entered, then, turning, 
walked slowly along the Kue St. Paul, and so regained 
the upper end of the Kue de Kivoli ; and as I strolled 
along my thoughts were indeed complex ones. Sight 
of that man recalled a chapter of my life which I had 
hoped was sealed forever. Of all men in the world 
he was the very last I should have dreamed of meet- 
ing. But as he had not detected me, for the present I 
possessed the advantage. 

That thin, superior-looking man who had strolled so 
airily along the Quai, smart in his silk hat and pearl- 
grey gloves, and carrying his cane with such a jaunty 
air, was a man whose name had once been known 
throughout Europe — a man, indeed, of world-wide 
notoriety. In those days, however, he did not call 
himself Kodolphe Wolf. He had changed his name, 
it was true, but he could never succeed in changing his 
personality. Besides, the name he used had given me, 
who alone knew his secret, a clue to his identity. 


The Spy's Report 127 

When Sibyl had mentioned the name and described 
him as a chance acquaintance at the Baronne’s, I felt 
convinced as to the truth. Yolande, too, seemed aware 
of his change of name, for so sudden had been my an- 
nouncement that he was in Paris that she had been 
completely taken by surprise, and had made no attempt 
to declare herself ignorant of my meaning. 

At the corner of the Caserne, in the Rue de Rivoli, 
I sprang into a fiacre, and told the man to drive to the 
Cafe de la Paix, where, seated upon one of the little 
wicker chairs in the warm sunset, I drank my maza- 
gran and allowed my thoughts to run back to the time 
when this man had played so important a part in my 
life. All those strange circumstances came back to me 
as vividly as though they had happened but yesterday. 
He had once been my friend, but now he was my bit- 
terest enemy. 

Count Rodolphe d’Egloff stein- Wolfsburg, or as he 
now preferred to be called, Rodolphe Wolf, was in 
Paris. He had returned as though from the grave, 
and was apparently living in seclusion in an exceed- 
ingly unfashionable apartment over the fishing-tackle 
shop beside the Seine. It was over two years since 
report had declared him to be dead, and I had con- 
gratulated myself upon an escape from what had 
seemed an inevitable disaster ; yet that report was 
false. He was alive, and I had no doubt that he 
meant mischief. 

Yet why did Yolande fear him? This fact puzzled 
me. They had been acquainted in the old days, it was 
true, but what cause she had to hate him I could not 
discern. Something had passed between them of 
which I had remained in ignorance. Strange, too, 
that the Austrian Ambassador should introduce him 


128 Her Majesty’s Minister 

at the Baroness’s reception! With what motive? I 
wondered. Surely he must know from the Diplomatic 
List that I was now in Paris, and that at any sign of 
hostility on his part I should expose him and explain the 
whole truth. He was playing a dangerous game, what- 
ever it was ; and I, too, felt myself to be in deadly peril. 

I sat there trying to review the situation with calm- 
ness, but could see no solution of the problem. The 
truth was that, believing him to be dead, I had given 
no heed to that sealed chapter of my history, and now 
the ghastly truth had fallen upon me as a thunderbolt. 
Sibyl had met and liked him. She had in her ignorance 
declared d’Egloff stein- Wolfsburg to be a charming fel- 
low. There was a touch of grim humour in the sit- 
uation. 

Fate seems sometimes to conspire against us. At 
such times it is no use kicking against the pricks. The 
proper course is to accept misfortune with the largest 
amount of good humour possible in the circumstances, 
and just to treat one’s sorrows lightly until they pass. 
This is, I am aware, counsel excellent in kind, but 
extremely difficult to follow. At that moment I felt 
crushed beneath the weight of sudden misfortune. All 
my future seemed dark and hopeless, without a single 
ray of happiness. 

The mystery surrounding Yolande’s actions, the 
suspicion resting upon the Countess of having made 
a dastardly attempt upon her daughter’s life, the man- 
ner in which knowledge of our secret despatch had 
been obtained and our diplomatic efforts thereby 
checkmated, and the reason of the sudden appearance 
in Paris of my most bitter enemy, formed a problem 
which, maddening in its complexity, appeared to ad- 
mit of no' solution. 


129 


The Spy’s Report 

Two men of my acquaintance came up and shook 
my hand in passing, but what words I uttered I have 
no idea. My thoughts were, at that hour, when the 
Place de FOpera was bathed in the crimson afterglow, 
far away from the busy whirl of central Paris, away 
in that peaceful forest glade where took place that 
incident by which I so narrowly escaped with my life. 
The whole scene came before me now. I remembered 
every detail of that night long ago. 

Bah ! My cigar tasted bitter, and I flung it across 
the pavement into the gutter. Would that I could 
have put from me all recollection as easily as I cast 
that remnant away ! Alas ! I knew that such a course 
was impossible. The ghost of the past had arisen to 
overshadow the future. 

Next day at noon I sat with the Ambassador in his 
private room discussing the political outlook. He had 
exchanged telegraphic despatches with Downing 
Street during the morning, and I knew from the 
deciphers which I had made that never in the course 
of my career as a diplomatist had the European situa- 
tion been so critical. 

Try how we would in Madrid, in Berlin, and in 
Vienna, we could obtain absolutely no confirmation 
of our suspicions that Ceuta had been sold by Spain 
to France. At the first rumours of the impending 
sale of this strategic point the machinery of our secret 
service in the various capitals had been set to work, 
and under the ubiquitous Kaye no stone had been left 
unturned in order to get at the real truth of this grave 
menace to England’s power in the Mediterranean. 

His Excellency, leaning back in his favourite cane 
chair, was grave and thoughtful, for again he had de- 
clared : 


130 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ All this is owing to those confounded spies ! Here, 
in Paris, nothing can be conducted fairly and above- 
board. I really don’t know, Ingram, what will be the 
outcome.” 

“Do you consider the situation so very critical, 
then ? ” I asked. 

“ Critical ? I certainly do. It is more than critical. 
With this scurrilous Press against us, popular feeling 
so extremely antagonistic towards England, and the 
difficulties in the Transvaal, only a single spark is re- 
quired to produce an explosion. You know what that 
would mean ? ” 

“ The long-predicted European war ? ” 

He nodded, and his grey face grew greyer. I had 
never seen him more gloomy than at that moment. 
While we were talking, Harding rapped at the door 
and asked : 

“ Will Your Excellency see Mr. Grew ? ” 

The Ambassador turned quickly, exchanged a glance 
with me, and answered at once in the affirmative. 
For two persons His Excellency was at all times un- 
engaged — for Kaye and for his trusted assistant, 
Samuel Grew. 

“ A few moments later a rather under-sized, bald- 
headed, gentlemanly little man entered and seated 
himself, at the Chiefs* invitation. He was well- 
dressed, round-faced, with longish grey whiskers, and 
in his manner was the air of a thorough cosmopolitan, 
with just a trifle of the bon viveur. 

“Well, Grew,” inquired His Excellency, “anything 
fresh ? ” 

“I have come to report to Your Excellency upon 
my visit to Ceuta.” 

“ What ! ” the Ambassador exclaimed in astonish- 


The Spy’s Report 131 

ment. “Have you actually been there and re- 
turned ? ” 

“ Certainly,” the other answered, smiling. “ I can 
move swiftly when necessary. I was in Barcelona 
when I received my telegraphic instructions, and set 
out at once.” 

“Well, tell us the result of your observations,” 
urged Lord Barmouth, instantly interested. 

“I went down to Algeciras, and crossed to the 
much-discussed penal settlement by boat. Before I 
could do so, I was compelled to get a permit from the 
commander of the Algeciras garrison, and only then 
was allowed to board the steamship, whose every nut, 
screw, and chain was screaming for a little oil, whose 
hands stretched themselves on deck in the sun and left 
the work to the captain and his engineer, while they 
sang songs and smoked cigarettes. There were very 
few passengers, mostly women, who sang until the 
steamer cut across the Straits in the teeth of the wind ; 
then they ceased to sing and commenced to pray. In 
little more than two hours we were just off Ceuta — a 
long, straggling Spanish town, the convict station high 
up on the eastern hill, with stonework fortifications, 
that would hardly endure three hours’ attention from 
modern guns, down to the water’s edge, and beyond, 
to the west, well-cultivated fields full of young wheat 
or barley. Arrived on shore, I was summoned to a 
shed, where a severe official in uniform examined my 
papers, recorded my age and other details in a book, 
returned the passport, and told me that if I wished to 
leave Ceuta at any time I must go to the commandante 
and get his written permission to do so. Later on, 
the native who showed me the way to the Governor’s 
house made an explanation that was less satisfactory 


132 Her Majesty’s Minister 

than he intended. ‘ You see, senor,’ he said, ‘ we have 
a great many convicts here, and they are very like 
you. I mean to say,’ he went on, feeling that he had 
not expressed himself happily, ‘that they are often 
dressed to look like gentlemen.’ I then changed the 
conversation.” 

“ And how about the fortifications ? ” His Excel- 
lency inquired. 

“ I have full plans and photographs of them,” an- 
swered the member of the secret service. “ The pho- 
tographs are on films, as yet undeveloped, and I at 
once posted them to an address in Bale, so as to get 
rid of them from my possession. The plans, on tissue 
paper, I have here in my walking-stick,” he added, 
smiling grimly and holding up to our view his rather 
battered ebony cane with a silver knob. 

“ Aren’t you afraid of any one prying into that ? ” 
I asked. 

“ Hot at all. The knob is removable, as you see,” 
and he unscrewed it, revealing a small cavity with a 
compass set in the top. “ But no one ever suspects 
the ferrule. There is a hidden spring in it ; ” and, in- 
verting the stick, he opened the ferrule, disclosing a 
small cavity in which reposed some tiny pieces of 
tissue closely resembling rolled cigarette papers. 

It is against the British principles of openness and 
fairness to employ secret agents; but in these days, 
when spies abound everywhere and the whole of 
Europe is a vast network of political intrigue, we 
cannot afford to sit inactive and remain in contented 
ignorance. 

“You will make a full report later, with photo- 
graphs and plans, I presume ? ” His Excellency sug- 
gested. 


The Spy’s Report 133 

“Yes. But knowing the importance of the matter 
I came straight to make a verbal report to Your Ex- 
cellency. I arrived in Paris only an hour ago. At 
present Ceuta does not impress the eye of the person 
who knows something of England’s fortified stations. 
Gibraltar stands on guard across the water, present- 
ing nothing but a towering, bare rock, honeycombed 
with hidden batteries, to which all Ceuta lies exposed. 
While Gibraltar is of solid rock, the vegetation round 
and in Ceuta hints at a more mixed material, and an 
immense amount of money would be required to make 
fortifications that would fulfill all modern require- 
ments. The expenditure might work wonders, for 
the town has the sea on all sides, and could be com- 
pletely isolated by flooding the strip of land that 
fronts the Bay. The present garrison consists of five 
thousand soldiers, including a regiment of Moors, who 
in point of physique are the best men in the place. 
Ceuta itself is rather a pretty town, so thoroughly 
Spanish that the few Moors and Arabs met in the 
streets are objects of interest. The houses are small, 
and often built round the cool patios dear to southern 
Spain. The balconies stretch so far across the streets 
that groups of girls sit all day, except in the hours 
of noon, chatting with their neighbours across the 
way.” 

“ And what does your visit lead you to conclude ? ” 
inquired His Excellency, all attention to this state- 
ment of the well-trained secret agent. 

“I am of opinion that the present condition of 
Ceuta need inspire no uneasiness. Our latest and 
heaviest guns completely command the town ; and if, 
in an hour of universal commotion, the unexpected 
happened, and Spain gave up her possession, very long 


134 Her Majesty’s Minister 

and expensive work would be required to render the 
position tenable.” 

“ And have you made arrangements for further in- 
formation ? ” asked Lord Barmouth. 

Yes. We shall be at once informed of any fortifi- 
cation of Ceuta conducted at a cost out of proportion 
to Spanish resources — say at the expense and on be- 
half of a Power that would hope to acquire it sud- 
denly.” 

“ Good,” observed the Chief in a tone of approval. 
“ I congratulate you, Mr. Grew, upon your smartness 
in this affair. But you have not told me whether you 
discovered any French agents there?” 

“None. I went in the guise of a Frenchman, with 
a French passport, and searched for any compatriots, 
but found none whom I could suspect.” 

“Well,” responded the Ambassador, rising, as a 
si^n that the audience was at an end, “ it behoves us 
to be constantly on the alert in face of the network 
of French intrigue that threatens England in the land 
of the Moors, and consequently at one end of the 
Mediterranean.” 

Then the keen, bald-headed, little man, highly 
pleased by the Chief’s word of commendation, bowed 
and withdrew, taking with him the precious walking- 
stick in which were concealed the plans of the Spanish 
fortifications. 

His Excellency sighed when the man had gone, and 
after a pause exclaimed seriously : 

“ I can’t help regarding the affair, Ingram, as some- 
thing more than a political ballon d’essai. The silence 
of our friends both in the Boulevard de Courcelles 
and the Kue de Lille is very ominous.” 


CHAPTER XIY 


SMART PARIS 

On the following afternoon, as Lord Barmouth had 
some business with the Minister of Foreign Affairs 
over at the Quai d’Orsay, I accompanied Lady Bar- 
mouth and Sibyl to a rather queer function. It was 
a unique opportunity offered to visit in detail one of 
the most attractive palaces in La Yille Lumiere ; to 
while away a few hours very agreeably with a Avell- 
chosen variety entertainment presented by some of 
the most popular artists on the Paris stage; and to 
aid a philanthropic enterprise, L’CEuvre Sociale, con- 
ceived, I suppose, in a compassionate love of humanity 
and carried on in a touching spirit of self-abnegation. 
The palace was that of Prince Roland Bonaparte, in 
the Avenue d’Jena. Through the galleries, salons, 
and magnificent library the crush was enormous. The 
afternoon was hot and the atmosphere stifling ; never- 
theless, in the cause of charity we of the diplomatic 
circle must always be en evidence, even though we 
would rather be away from the crowd in the country 
or by the sea. 

It was evident when we arrived that the visit to the 
hotel was one of the great attractions of the fete, for 
many lady visitors, especially the American contin- 
gent, examined and admired the handsome staircase, 
with its green marble columns, its vast collection of 
pictures, sculpture, bronzes, tapestries, and curiosities, 
135 


136 Her Majesty’s Minister 

the salons filled with souvenirs of the First Empire 
and of the Imperial family, and the incomparable 
library— that of Louis XIY.— in exquisitely carved 
wood. 

We mounted to the vestibule on the first floor, 
where a concert-room had been fitted up, and there 
with difficulty found seats among the crowded au- 
dience. 

Aristide Bruant himself was concluding one of his 
popular songs of the street : 

La moral’ de c’tte oraison-lsl, 

C’est qu’les p’tit’s fill’s qu’a pas d’ papa, 

Doiv’nt jamais aller a l’4cole, 

A Batignolles, ' 

and bowed himself off amid thunders of applause. As 
a Paris singer has not to submit his lines to a paternal 
County Council, they are frequently a trifle more free 
than those to which English audiences are in the habit 
of listening. Nevertheless, it must be remembered 
that this charity function was a very smart affair, all 
the best-known people remaining in Paris being pres- 
ent. After Bruant, an outburst of applause greeted 
the renowned Spanish dancer. La Belle Otero, who 
danced and sang, followed by pastourelles of the 
eighteenth century, romances by Florian and Marie 
Antoinette, and songs by Paulus. Lastly, there 
bounded upon the stage Eugenie Buffet, the “ chante- 
use des rues,” together with her troupe. She sang 
that weird song of Paris life so popular at the cafes, 
called “ A la Yillette,” commencing : 

II avait pas encor’ vingt ans, 

I’ connaissait pas see parents, 

On I’app’lait Toto Laripette, 

A la Villette. 


Smart Paris 


>37 


II 4tait un peu sans fa^ion, 

Mais c’^tait un joli gargon : 

C’6tait Ppus beau, c’^tait I’pus chouette, 

A la Villette. 

The audience had heard much of the song, but few 
of those present had ever ventured into the insignifi- 
cant cafe where she sang it nightly. Consequently 
there was distinct novelty in it. She sang it through, 
to the accompaniment of her street musicians, until 
she came to the final verse : 

La dernier’ fois que je Pai vu, 

II avait Ptorse ^ moiti6 nu, 

Et le cou pris dans la lunette, 

A la Eoquette. 

Then, with a sudden outburst of enthusiasm, the 
whole audience threw hundreds of sous and francs to 
the singer. 

Sibyl, seated beside me, her ladyship having found 
a seat with the Baronne de Chalencon some distance 
away, turned to me, saying : 

“ The air is simply suffocating here. Shall we go ? ” 

‘‘ Certainly,” I answered, glad myself to escape 
from the semi-asphyxiation. We rose and passed out 
together. On the stairs we met Prince Poland, de- 
lighted with the success of the entertainment, ascend- 
ing, with, as usual, hat on the back of his head and 
hands in pockets. 

“ Ah, mon cher Ingram ! ” he cried, greeting us. 
“ And you are here with mademoiselle ? ” 

Sibyl congratulated him upon his great success, 
whereupon he answered, with a broad smile : 

“ It seems, mademoiselle, that my hotel is not large 
enough for charity.” 


138 Her Majesty’s Minister 

And he passed on, leaving us to laugh at his rather 
witty mot. In Paris every one knows the Prince, for 
he is one of the central figures in Society. Below we 
encountered the Baronne de Noailles, who with Ma- 
dame Bornier was sharing the feminine literary hon- 
ours of Paris at the moment. The Baronne’s poems 
were well known, especially “ II n’y a plus defies bien- 
heureuses.” She greeted us merrily, for Sibyl was 
her especial favourite. She was still quite young, 
dark, slim, and distinguished-looking. In addition to 
much originality and charm in her manner of writ- 
ing, she possessed an insight into, and a power to judge, 
human nature in its many varied aspects which had 
been pronounced by the critics to be remarkable. 
She was very graceful, with auburn hair and a face 
such as Burne-Jones loved to paint. Indeed, she had 
sat for the faces of several of that artist’s more recent 
pictures. 

“What!” she cried, you, too, find the crush too 
great? And I also. I am returning home. Come 
with me, both of you, and have a quiet cup of tea. I 
will explain to her ladyship ; ” and walking quickly 
across to where Sibyl’s mother was standing, she 
uttered a few words to the Ambassador’s wife. Then 
we all three entered her landau and drove to her 
house. 

The Baronne was, as all Paris knows, in every way 
an artist, wealthy, chic, and philanthropic to a degree. 
Her house was, I found, a dream of exquisite taste. 

When we entered, Sibyl turned to me, saying: 

“ These white carpets and delicate hangings make 
one tremble at the thought of dirty feet or smutty 
fingers ! ” 

And they certainly did. The effects everywhere 


Smart Paris 


139 

were highly artistic — more striking, I think, than I 
had ever seen in any private house. Her refined taste 
and rare turn of mind were shown in every corner of 
that delightful house, so delicate and restful in every 
detail. The salon in which tea was served was all 
white — soft Avhite velvet hangings, white carpet, 
white wood furniture, and a little gallery also in 
Avhite. Along the dado-line, in white wood, were 
painted butterflies in pale opal shades, frail symbols 
of the flitting gaieties of life. 

We had been chatting some little time, and the con- 
versation between the Ambassador’s daughter and the 
poetess had turned upon frocks, as it so often does be- 
tween women devoted to La mode. They were dis- 
cussing the toilette of Madame de Yturbe, one of the 
prettiest women in Paris, and the tendency of late to- 
wards the Empire and Directoire periods in dress, 
when I asked a question to which I had often failed 
to get a satisfactory answer. 

“ Who is really the smartest — the Parisienne, or the 
American woman, in Paris ? ” 

“ Ah, m’sieur ! ” cried the merry little Baronne, 
holding up her hands, “ the Americans run us so very 
close in the matter of dress nowadays that I really do 
not know. Indeed, many Americans are in my opinion 
more chic than the vraie Parisienne.” 

“Well,” observed Sibyl rather philosophically, 
“ there is, I think, more independence and individuality 
in the American woman’s manner of putting on her 
clothes. The French Avoman — forgive me, Baronne — 
accepts her frock just as it comes from the dressmaker, 
and looks more or less as though she has just stepped 
out of a bandbox. But the American knoAvs better 
Avhat suits her in the first place, and in putting on her 


140 Her Majesty’s Minister 

clothes adapts them, by a judicious touch here and 
there, to her own particular style and taste.” 

“ I thoroughly agree,” observed the Baronne. “ We 
have been actually beaten on our own ground by the 
Americans. It is curious, but nevertheless true, that 
we French women are being left behind in the mode, 
as we have been left behind in the laws. Here, in 
France, we are twenty years or so behind the age in 
regard to the laws affecting women.” 

“ I don’t understand,” observed Sibyl. 

“Well, in brief, our modern intellectual young man 
in Paris is all for woman’s rights. In England you 
have long been aware that to educate and gradually 
emancipate the women-folk is one of the most im- 
portant points in modern progress; but though the 
Feministe movement in France has been actively 
pushed by a small minority during the last few years, 
we in Paris have only just heard of your so-called 
New Woman.” 

“ And do you believe, Baronne, that the movement 
will progress ? ” I inquired. 

“ Ah ! it is difficult to say, m’sieur,” she answered, 
with a slight shrug of her well-formed shoulders. 
“ When the reformers’ ideal has once been placed in 
the category of practical politics it will probably be 
accorded a welcome and given a deferential attention 
which has scarcely been vouchsafed to it on your side 
of the Pas de Calais. At present, as you know, a 
married woman in France has no right to her own 
earnings. They belong to the husband. A man can 
actually imprison his wife for two years if discovered 
with a lover ; while a woman who has been wronged 
is not allowed the recherche de la paternity. In short, 
you English respect your womenkind, and are a free 


Smart Paris 


141 

and enlightened people in comparison with us. 'Here, 
‘ Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite,’ are words which apply 
solely to the masculine sex.” 

We both laughed, but the Baronne was quite seri- 
ous, and from her subsequent observations it was pat- 
ent that I had accidentally touched upon one of her 
pet subjects. To confess the truth, I became rather 
bored by her violent arguments in favour of the 
emancipation of women, for when a voluble French- 
woman argues, it is difficult to get in a word edgewise. 

Presently she exclaimed : 

“ A couple of days ago I had a visit from an old 
friend who inquired whether I knew you — the Com- 
tesse de Foville. She has left Paris.” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ I think she has. Her visit has been 
only a brief one. They have gone for their cure at 
Marienbad, I believe.” 

“Yery brief. She wrote telling me that she and 
Yolande would remain in Paris at least a month, and 
yet they’ve not been here a week ! ” 

‘^Is this the same Yolande whom you knew in 
Brussels ? ” asked Sibyl, turning to me with a glance 
of surprise. 

“Yes,” I answered in a hard voice. Why, I won- 
dered, had this woman brought up a subject so dis- 
tasteful to me ? 

“ You were her cavalier in Brussels, so I’ve heard,” 
observed the Ambassador’s daughter. “ I was still at 
college in those days, I suppose. But is it really true 
that your flirtations were something dreadful ? ” 

“ Who told you so ? ” I inquired, in a tone which 
affected to scout such an idea. 

“ Mother said so the other day. She told me that 
Qvery one in Brussels knew you had fallen violently 


142 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

in love with her, and prophesied marriage, until one 
day you suddenly applied for a change of post, and 
left her. They whispered that it was owing to a 
quarrel.” 

“Well,” I said with a sad smile, “you are really 
awfully frank.” 

“Just as you are with me. You’re always chaiRng 
me about my partners at dances, and making all sorts 
of rude remarks. Now, when I have a chance to re- 
taliate, it isn’t to be supposed that I shall let it slip.” 

“ Certainly not,” I laughed. “ Now describe all my 
shortcomings, and make a long list of them. It will 
be entertaining to the Baronne, who dearly loves to 
hear a little private history.” 

“ Now, m’sieur, that is really too bad,” the other 
protested. “You Englishmen are always so very 
cynical.” 

“We find it very necessary for our existence, I 
assure you, madame.” 

“Just as Yolande was once necessary for your ex- 
istence — eh ? ” she added mischievously, as they both 
laughed in chorus at my discomfiture. 

“ Well, and if I admit it ? ” 

“ If you admit it you will perhaps set our minds at 
rest as to the reason of her sudden departure from 
Paris yesterday,” exclaimed the Baronne, with a 
strange expression upon her face, as though she knew 
more than she would admit. 

“ I have no idea of the reason. They have gone 
for their cure at Marienbad, I believe.” 

Madame smiled, pushing a little tendril of her au- 
burn hair from off her brow. 

“You believe!” she echoed. “Are you not 
certain ? ” 


Smart Paris 


H3 

“ No, I’m not certain. They left hurriedly. That 
is all I know.” 

“And all you care?” asked Sibyl, regarding me 
very gravely. 

“ And all I care,” I added. 

“ What a courteous cavalier ! ” exclaimed madame, 
laughing. Then she added : “ I’ve known Yolande 
and her mother for quite a number of years. Yolande 
is a most charming girl.” 

“ I’ve heard that she is now engaged,” I observed, 
resolved upon a ruse. “ Girard, of the Belgian Em- 
bassy, told me the other day that she was to marry 
some German — I think he is — named Wolf. Do you 
know him ? ” 

“Wolf!” ejaculated the Baronne, her fine eyes 
fixed upon me with a strange look, as though in a mo- 
ment she had become paralysed by some sudden fear. 
The next instant, however, with a woman’s marvellous 
self-possession, she made shift to answer : 

“ No, the name is quite unfamiliar to me.” 

“ Why,” cried Sibyl suddenly, “ that was the name 
of the dark-bearded man who was so charming to me 
at the de Chalencon’s the other night. Is he the 
same ? ” 

“ Yes,” I said. “ His character, however, is none of 
the best. I would only warn you to have nothing 
whatever to do with him — that’s all.” 

“ He was awfully kind to me the other evening,” she 
protested. 

“Well,” I replied earnestly, “but you and I are 
friends of old standing, and I consider that I have a 
right to give you warning when it seems to be neces- 
sary.” 

“And is one actually needed regarding Eodolphe 


144 Majesty’s Minister 

Wolf asked the Baronne, evidently much puzzled, 
for she undoubtedly knew him, even though she had 
declared her ignorance of his existence. 

“ Yes,” I said, “ he is a person to be avoided. More, 
I cannot tell you.” 


CHAPTEE XY 


ACROSS THE CHANNEL 

A WEEK went by, but the war-cloud still hung 
heavily upon the political horizon. 

At my direction Grew, assisted by other members 
of the secret service, had searched high and low in 
Paris for Eodolphe Wolf; but in vain. After enter- 
ing that dingy old house on the Quai, he had suddenly 
and unaccountably disappeared. The fishing-tackle 
shop was not, as I had believed, his headquarters, but 
he had evidently only made a visit there, and had 
afterwards left Paris suddenly, at almost the same 
time as the Countess de Foville and Yolande. The 
ladies had also completely eluded us. They were not 
in Marienbad, for inquiries had been made in that 
town without result. 

I was in daily expectation of Kaye’s return to Paris ; 
but he did not arrive, and I had heard nothing of his 
whereabouts. The astute secret agent had a habit of 
being lost to us for weeks, and of then returning with 
some important piece of information ; not infrequently 
with a copy of some diplomatic document by means of 
which our Chief was able to foil the machinations of 
England’s enemies. Nevertheless, in view of the 
curious events which had occurred, I was anxious to 
learn what facts he might have ascertained in Berlin 
regarding Yolande. 

Lady Barmouth was receiving in the grand salon of 
145 


146 Her Majesty’s Minister 

the Embassy one afternoon, the fine apartment being 
full to overflowing with the usual chattering cosmo- 
politan men and women who circle about from one 
embassy to another, when I suddenly encountered my 
friend Captain Girard, the Belgian military attache. 
He had been absent on leave for several days, and had 
only just returned to Paris. 

“ I’ve been to Brussels,” he exclaimed, after we had 
exchanged greetings. “ A cousin of mine has been 
married, and I went to the feasting.” 

“ And now you have the usual attack of liver, I 
suppose ? ” 

“ Yes,” he laughed. ‘‘ I’m feeling a little bit seedy 
after all the merrymaking. But, by the way, you 
knew my cousin, Julie Montbazon? She was often a 
guest of the Countess de Foville at the chateau.” 

“Of course I remember her. She was tall, fair- 
haired, and spoke English extremely well,” I said. 

“ The same. Well, she has married the son of 
Tanchot, the banker, of Antwerp — an excellent 
match.” 

“And the Countess and Yolande, what news of 
them ? ” 

“ They are in Paris, are they not ? ” 

“ Ho, they left suddenly some days ago.” 

“ Well, they are not to be blamed,” he said, smiling. 
“ Ho one stays in Paris during this heat if they can 
possibly avoid it. Yolande told me she was going to 
Marienbad.” 

“ She told me so, too. But they have altered their 
plans, it seems.” 

“ Oh ! So you have met again ? ” he cried, opening 
his eyes widely. “I thought your friendship had 
ended long ago ? ” 


Across the Channel 


H7 


“ So it had.” 

“ Then it has been resumed ? ” 

“No, it has not,” I replied. 

“ Are you certain ? ” he inquired, with sudden ear- 
nestness. He had been one of my most intimate 
friends in Brussels in the old days, and knew well the 
secret of our broken engagement. 

“ Quite certain.” 

“ And they have left for some destination unknown 
to you ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ But why did you seek her again, my dear Ingram ? 
It was scarcely wise, was it ? ” 

“ Wisdom has to be thrown to the winds in certain 
circumstances,” I answered. “ I was in this instance 
compelled to see her.” 

“ Compelled ? ” he echoed, puzzled. “ Then you did 
not call upon her of your own free will ? ” 

“ No. I called, but against my own inclination.” 

“ And are you absolutely certain, mon cher Ingram, 
that all is broken off between you — that you have no 
lingering thought of her ? ” 

“ Quite. Why ? ” 

He paused, as though in doubt as to what reply he 
should make to my question. 

“ Because,” he said slowly, at last — “ well, because 
if my information is correct, her character has changed 
since you parted.” 

What could he know ? His words implied that he 
was aware of the truth regarding her. 

“I don’t quite understand you,” I said eagerly. 
“ Be more explicit.” 

“ Unfortunately I cannot,” he answered. 

“Why?” 


148 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ Because I never condemn a woman, either upon 
hearsay or upon suspicion.” 

A couple of merry fellows, attaches of the Eussian 
Embassy, strolled up, and we were therefore compelled 
to drop the subject. Their chief, they told us, was 
about to leave Paris for his country house in Brittany 
— a fact interesting to Lord Barmouth, as showing 
that the political atmosphere was clearing. One 
ominous sign of the storm had been the persistent 
presence of all the ambassadors in Paris at a time 
when usually they are in the country or by the sea. 
The representative of the Czar was the first to move, 
and now without doubt all the other representatives 
of the Powers would be only too glad to follow his 
example, for the month was August, and the heat in 
Paris was almost overpowering enough to be described 
as tropical. 

In the diplomatic circle abroad the most accom- 
plished, the merriest, the most courteous, and the best 
linguists are always the Eussians. Although we at 
the British Embassy were sometimes in opposition to 
their policy, nevertheless Count Olsoufieff, the Eussian 
Ambassador, was one of Lord Barmouth’s most inti- 
mate friends, and from the respected chiefs down- 
wards there existed the greatest cordiality and good 
feeling between the staff of the two embassies, not- 
withstanding all that certain journalists might write 
to the contrary. Yolkouski and Korniloff, the two 
attaches, were easy-going cosmopolitans, upon whose 
shoulders the cares of life seemed to sit lightly, and 
very often we dined and spent pleasant evenings to- 
gether. 

We were gossiping together, discussing a titbit of 
amusing Paris scandal which Yolkouski had picked up 


Across the Channel 


149 

at a dinner on the previous night, and was now relat- 
ing, when suddenly Harding approached me. 

“ His Excellency would like to see you at once in 
his private room, sir.” 

I excused myself, having heard the denouement of 
the story and laughed over it, and then mounted the 
grand staircase to the room in which my own Chief 
was standing with his hands behind his back, gazing 
thoughtfully out of the window. As I entered and 
closed the door, he turned to me saying : 

“ The political wind has changed to-day, Ingram, 
and although the mystery regarding Ceuta remains 
the same, the outlook is decidedly brighter. I had a 
chat with de Wolkenstein and Olsoufieff over at the 
Quai d’Orsay an hour ago, and the result makes it 
plain that the tension is fast disappearing.” 

“ Olsoufieff leaves for Brittany to-morrow,” I said. 

“ He told me so,” answered the Ambassador. “ Yet 
with regard to Ceuta I have learned a very important 
fact, which I must send by despatch to the Marquess. 
Anderson, however, left for Borne to-day, and we have 
no messenger. You, therefore, must carry it to Lon- 
don by the night service this evening. If you object, 
Yivian can be sent.” 

“ I’ll go with pleasure,” I responded, glad of an op- 
portunity of spending a day, and perhaps even a 
couple of days, in town. We who are condemned to 
exile abroad love our dear old London. 

“ Then if you will get out the cipher-book I’ll write 
the despatch.” 

I unlocked the safe, handed him the book, and then 
stood by, watching as he reduced the draft despatch 
which he had already written to the puzzling array of 
letters and numerals. The operation of transcribing 


150 Her Majesty’s Minister 

into cipher always occupies considerable time, for per- 
fect accuracy is necessary, otherwise disastrous com- 
plications might ensue. 

At last, however. His Excellency concluded, ap- 
pended his signature, and took from a drawer in his 
big writing-table a large envelope bearing a formida- 
ble red cross. Despatches placed in those envelopes 
are for the eye of the principal Secretary of State for 
Foreign Affairs alone, and are always carried by the 
Eoyal messengers in the chamois-leather belt worn 
next their skin. They are essentially private com- 
munications, which British ambassadors are enabled 
to make with the great statesman who, untiring by 
night and by day, controls England’s destinies. The 
messengers carry the ordinary despatches to and fro 
across Europe in their despatch-boxes, but what is 
known in the Foreign Office as a “ crossed despatch ” 
must be carried on the person of the messenger, and 
must be delivered into the actual hand of the person 
to whom it is addressed. 

When the communication was placed in its envelope, 
duly secured by the five seals of the Ambassador’s 
private seal — a fine-cut amethyst attached to his plain 
watch-guard of black silk ribbon — he handed it to me 
to lock in the safe until my departure. This I did, and 
after receiving some further verbal instructions went 
to my rooms to prepare for the journey. I dined 
early, called at the Embassy for the despatch, which 
I placed in my waist-belt, and left the Gare du Hord 
just as the summer twilight had deepened into dusk. 

I was alone in the compartment on that tedious 
journey by Amiens to Calais. The night service be- 
tween Paris and London never holds out a very invit- 
ing prospect, for there is little comfort for travellers 


Across the Channel 


151 

as compared with the saloon carriages of the Chemin 
de Fer du Nord and the fine buffet cars of the Wagon 
Lit Company which run in the day service between 
the two greatest capitals of the world. The boats by 
the night service, too, are not all that can be desired, 
especially if a strong breeze is blowing. But on ar- 
rival at Calais on the night in question all was calm ; 
and although the boat was one of the oldest on the 
service, nevertheless, not the most delicate among the 
lady passengers had occasion to seek the seclusion of 
a cabin or claim the services of the portly, white- 
capped stewardess. 

In the bright moonbeams of that summer’s night I 
sat on deck smoking and thinking. What, I won- 
dered, did Girard know concerning Yolande? It was 
evident that as my friend he had my interests at heart, 
and wished to warn me against further association 
with her, even though he had done it clumsily and 
without the tact one would have expected of a man so 
well schooled in diplomacy. I remembered how at one 
time he was frequently a guest at the Chateau of 
Houffalize ; indeed, we had been invited there at the 
same time on several occasions for shooting and wild- 
boar hunting in the Ardennes forest. 

Yes, it seemed apparent that he knew the truth, 
that Yolande was actually a secret agent. But she 
had disappeared. Perhaps, after all, it was as well. I 
had no desire that Kaye and his smart detectives should 
hunt her through Europe, unless it could be actually 
proved that through her the secret of our policy 
towards Spain with regard to Ceuta had been be- 
trayed to those Powers which were ever at work to 
undermine British prestige. 

But how could she possibly have obtained the 


1^2 Her Majesty’s Minister 

secret? That was the crux of the whole situation. 
The despatch from the Marquess of Malvern to Lord 
Barmouth had been a crossed one, and it had never 
left the person of the foreign service messenger until 
placed in my Chiefs hands with the seals intact. The 
mystery was absolutely inscrutable. 

The moonbeams, reflected by the dancing waters, 
and the many lights of Dover harbour as we ap- 
proached it, combined to produce an almost fairy-like 
picture. Indeed, in all my experience of the Channel 
I had never known a more perfectly calm and brilliant 
night, for the sea was almost like a lake, and on board 
the passengers were promenading as they chatted and 
laughed, pleasantly surprised to And the passage such 
an enjoyable one. 

But as I lolled in my deck-chair, my eyes flxed upon 
the silver track of the moonbeams, a figure suddenly 
passed along the deck between my vision and the sea. 
There were a good many passengers, for a P. & O. 
steamer had come in at Marseilles, and about a couple 
of hundred travellers from the Far East were hurrying 
homeward. Every moment they were passing and 
repassing me ; therefore I cannot tell what it was that 
attracted my attention to that particular silhouette 
dark against the silvery sea. 

I only saw it during a single second, for next instant 
it had passed and become lost in the crowd of prom- 
enaders on deck. It was that of a woman of middle 
height, wearing a long travelling-cloak heavily lined 
with fur and a small sealskin toque. The fur collar of 
her coat was turned up around her neck, and thus hid 
the greater part of her face; indeed, I saw little of her 
countenance, for it was only a grey blotch in the 
shadow; yet her dark eyes had glanced at me in- 


Across the Channel 


153 

quiringly, as though she wished to mark well my 
appearance. Her height and gait struck me as some- 
what unusual. I had seen some person before closely 
resembling her, but could not remember the occasion. 
She had passed me by like a shadow, yet somehow a 
strange conviction had in an instant seized me. That 
woman had followed me from Paris. She had stood 
on the platform of the Gare du Nord watching me 
while I had walked up and down awaiting the de- 
parture of the train. 

I rose and searched the deck from end to end, but 
could not rediscover her. I went below, wandering 
along the gangway, past the engines, where sometimes 
passengers seek shelter from the chill winds, but she 
was not there. As far as I dared I peered into the 
ladies’ cabin, but saw no one resembling her. In every 
part of the vessel I searched, but she had disappeared 
as though by magic. Indeed, a quarter of an hour 
later I was questioning myself as to whether I had 
really seen that figure or whether it had been merely 
a chimera of my excited imagination. 

But there was no doubt that a tall, well-dressed 
woman had passed me and had peered into my face ; 
and equally certain was it that, apparently fearing 
detection, she had disappeared and hidden herself 
somehow. Upon a vessel at night there are many 
dark corners where one can escape observation ; be- 
sides, the most likely spot for a hiding-place was one 
or other of the private deck-cabins. 

Try as I would, I could not rid myself of the 
recollection of that face. How that I reflected, I 
remembered that when I saw her on the railway- 
platform I noticed she was dark-eyed, with a thin, 
elongated, rather striking, careworn face; a figure 


154 Majesty’s Minister 

almost tragic in expression, yet evidently that of a 
woman of the world. Her nationality was difficult to 
distinguish, but by her tailor-made travelling-dress and 
her rather severe style, I had put her down as English. 
Her glance in the semi-darkness had, however, been a 
curious one, and the reason was rendered the more 
puzzling by her sudden disappearance. 

As we reached the pier at Dover, I stationed myself 
at the gangway, and closely scrutinised every person 
who went ashore, waiting there until the last passenger 
had left. But no one resembling her appeared. She 
seemed to have vanished from the boat like a shadow. 

I went ashore, and ran from end to end of both 
trains, the Chatham and Dover and South Eastern, but 
could not find her. Then, entering a compartment in 
the latter train, I travelled to Charing Cross, much 
puzzled by the incident. I could not doubt but that 
this thin-faced woman had followed me for some mys- 
terious purpose. 


CHAPTEE XYI 


DAWN 

When in the early morning I drove into Downing 
Street and entered the office of the chief of the night 
staff, I was informed that the Marquess of Malvern 
was in town; therefore I drove on to Belgrave 
Square. 

The Prime Minister’s house was a large, old-fash- 
ioned, substantial-looking mansion, devoid of any out- 
ward show or embellishment, and with very little 
attempt at ornamentation in the interior. Everything 
was solid and good, but long out of date. The grim- 
crack painted deal abominations, miscalled art-furni- 
ture, had not been invented in the day when the town 
house of the great family had been renovated in hon- 
our of the marriage of the fourth Marquess, the pres- 
ent Prime Minister’s grandfather, and very little had 
been altered by the two generations who had suc- 
ceeded him. The time-mellowed stability of the place 
was one of its greatest charms. The footman led me 
upstairs through the great reception-room which every 
foreign diplomatist in London knows so well, where 
the furniture was at present hidden beneath holland 
shrouds, and down a long corridor, till we found the 
valet, who, in obedience to the strict orders of his 
master, went and awakened him. The Marquess, at- 
tentive to the affairs of State by night as well as by 
day, was always awakened on the arrival of a crossed 
155 


156 Her Majesty’s Minister 

despatch from any of Britain’s representatives at the 
Foreign Courts. 

“ His lordship will see you in his dressing-room in a 
few moments, sir,” the valet said when he rejburned, 
as he ushered me into a small room close at hand. 

I had sat there before on previous occasions when I 
had been the bearer of secret reports from my Chief. I 
had only to wait a few moments, and the great states- 
man — a tall, thin, grave-faced gentleman, wrapped in 
his dressing-gown, opened the door and stood before 
me. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Ingram ! ” he exclaimed affa- 
bly ; for to all the staff of the Foreign Office, from 
ambassador down to the lower-grade clerk, the Mar- 
quess was equally courteous, and often gave a word 
of encouraging approval from his own lips. Many 
times had he been heard to say, “ Each of us work 
for our country’s good. There must be neither jeal- 
ousy nor pride among us.” The esprit de corps in the 
Foreign Office is well known. 

I bowed, apologised for disturbing him at that 
early hour — it was half-past five — and handed him 
the despatch. 

“ You’ve been travelling while I’ve been sleeping,” 
laughed the director of England’s foreign policy, 
taking the envelope and examining the seals to as- 
sure himself they were intact. Then he scrawled his 
signature upon the receipt which I handed him, tore 
open the envelope, and glanced at the cipher. 

“ Have you any idea of the contents of this ? ” he 
inquired. 

“Ho, it is secret. Lord Barmouth wrote it him- 
self.” 

“ Then kindly come this way ; ” and he led me down 


Dawn 


157 

a long corridor to a large room at the end — his library. 
From the safe he took his decipher-book, and after a 
few minutes had transcribed the despatch into plain 
English. 

I saw from his face that what he read was some- 
what displeasing, and also that he was considerably 
surprised by the news it contained. He re-read the 
lines he had written, twisting his watch-guard nerv- 
ously within his thin white fingers. Then he said : 

“ It seems, Ingram, that you have some extremely 
difficult diplomacy in Paris just now — extremely diffi- 
cult and often annoying ? ” 

“Yes,” I said, “there are several problems of late 
that have required great tact and finesse. But we at 
the Embassy have the utmost confidence in our Chief.” 

“ Lord Barmouth is a man of whom England may 
justly be proud. Would that there were many more 
like him in our service!” said the Prime Minister. 
“Kindly ask him to keep me posted constantly re- 
garding the progress of the matter he has just re- 
ported. It is serious, and may necessitate some drastic 
change of policy. It is for that reason that I wish to 
be kept informed.” 

“ Do you require me to return to my post to-day ? ” 

“Certainly not,” he replied quickly. “How you 
are in England you may remain a couple of days or 
so, if you wish. I am well aware how all of you long 
for a day or two at home.” 

I thanked his lordship ; and then, after a short and 
pleasant chat upon the political situation in Paris and 
the mystery regarding Ceuta, I went out, mounted 
into my cab, and drove down to the St. James’ Club, 
where I made myself tidy, and breakfasted. 

When I had finished my second cup of tea and 


158 Her Majesty’s Minister 

glanced through the morning paper, eight o’clock was 
striking. I rose, went to the window, and looked out 
upon Piccadilly, bright, and brilliant in the morning 
sun. With hands in my pockets I stood debating 
whether I should act upon a suggestion that had 
been constantly in my mind ever since leaving Paris. 
Should I take Edith by surprise, and go down to visit 
her? 

The fact that the Marquess had given me leave so 
readily showed that the outlook had become clearer, 
notwithstanding the fact that my Chief had trans- 
mitted, for the eye of the Foreign Minister only, the 
secret despatch of which I had been the bearer. 

At that early hour there was no one in the club, 
yet as I wandered through those well-remembered 
rooms my mind became filled with pleasant recollec- 
tions of merry hours spent there in the days before 
my duty compelled me to become an exile abroad. I 
thought of Yolande, and tried to decide whether or 
no I really loved her. A vision of her face arose 
before my eyes, but with a strenuous effort I suc- 
ceeded in shutting it out. All was of the past. Be- 
sides, had not Kaye proved her to be a secret agent, 
or, to , put it plainly, a spy ? Daily, hourly, I had 
struggled with my conscience. In the performance 
of what was plainly my duty I had visited her, and 
had nearly fallen into the trap she had so cunningly 
baited, for she no doubt intended, after all, to become 
my wife ; and in this she was acting, I felt confident, 
in concert with that man who was my bitterest enemy 
— the man who now called himself Eodolphe Wolf. 
Ko, I had treated Edith unfairly, and therefore re- 
solved to run down to Norfolk and visit her. With 
that object, an hour later I left London for Great 


Dawn 


159 

Eyburgh, the small village where she delighted to 
live reposeful days in company with her maiden aunt, 
Miss Henrietta Foskett. In due course I arrived by 
the express at Fakenham, drove in a fly to the quiet 
little village, and descended before the large, low, 
roomy old house with mullioned windows and tall 
chimneys, which lay back from the village street 
behind a garden filled with those old-world, sweet- 
smelling flowers so much beloved by our grand- 
mothers. 

I walked up the garden-path, knocked, and was ad- 
mitted by the neat maid, Ann, who for fifteen years 
had been in Miss Foskett’s service. 

It has always seemed to me that except by their 
immediate heirs, maiden aunts are often nearly for- 
gotten among a bustling younger generation always 
striving and toiling. They are left to dust their own 
china and sharply to superintend the morals and man- 
ners of their general servant, save when the holiday- 
times of the year come round, when their country 
houses are more apt to recur to their relatives’ minds ; 
their periodical letters, in the delicate pointed Italian 
hand, essential in the days of their youth as the hall- 
mark of gentility, are then more eagerly replied to, 
for Aunt Jane’s or Aunt Maria’s proffered hospitality 
will generally furnish an economical change of air. 

Edith’s case was not an unusual one. Her father, 
a wealthy landowner in Northumberland, bad died in 
her youth, while five years ago, just before she left 
college at St. Leonard’s, her mother, who was con- 
stantly ailing, also succumbed. She was left entirely 
alone ; but she had succeeded to a handsome income, 
derived from property in the city of Newcastle. Her 
Aunt Henrietta, her mother’s only surviving sister, 


i6o Her Majesty’s Minister 

had constituted herself her guardian. Miss Foskett 
had been able through stress and change to cling to 
the old house — the old place, once so full, from which 
so many had gone out to return no more. I knew 
that interior well. There was a haunting sense of 
pathos in those old rooms, and the ancient furniture 
was arranged in unyielding precision. 

When Ann ushered me into the musty-smelling 
drawing-room, I glanced round and shuddered. Aunt 
Henrietta’s rules were the household rules of her 
mother before her, and she severely reprobated the 
domestic slackness and craving for mere comfort and 
luxury of the present generation. Her lace curtains, 
carefully dressed, were hung up, and fires banished 
from all her fireplaces, on the first of May. Untimely 
frost and snow had no power to move the prim old 
wool-work screen, glazed and framed, that hid the 
steel bars of the grate ; the simpering ladies, in their 
faded blue and scarlet dresses, looked unsympathet- 
ically at the light carpet, the white curtains, the anti- 
macassared armchairs, the round table with books, 
miniatures, and a flowering plant, whatever the state 
of the thermometer. 

Through the windows a pleasant vista was pre- 
sented across a well-kept lawn with broad pasture- 
lands beyond, and the spire of Testerton church rising 
in the distance behind the belt of trees. While I sat 
there awaiting Edith, who was no doubt amazed at 
the announcement of my presence, and was now re- 
arranging her hair, as women will, I glanced up at 
the feeble water-colours and chalk drawings traced by 
the hand of “ dear Aunt Fanny, who had a wonder- 
ful talent for drawing.” It occurred to me that 
Fanny’s great-nieces, with perhaps less artistic excuse, 


Dawn 


i6i 

now studied at the Slade, copied at the National 
Gallery, and lived in flats with some feminine friend 
on tea and pickles. Such girls give lunches and teas 
to stray bachelors, and own a latchkey. But such 
doings could hardly be thought of among Fanny’s 
muddled trees and impossible sunsets, with Fanny’s 
pictured eyes smiling sweetly, if a trifle inanely, from 
behind her bunches of fair, hanging curls, at grand- 
mother’s mild face and folded hands on the opposite 
wall. 

Notwithstanding the inartistic character of the 
place, there was everywhere a tranquillity and an old- 
world charm. Through the open window came the 
scent of the flowers, the hum of insects in the noon- 
day sun, and the call of the birds. How different was 
the life there from my own turbulent existence in the 
glare and glitter of the gayest circle in Paris I I 
sighed, and longed for quiet and rest at home in dear 
old rural England. 

Suddenly the door opened, and Aunt Henrietta, a 
prim, shrunken, thin-faced old lady in stiff black silk, 
and wearing a cap of cream lace, came forward to 
greet me. 

“ Why, you have taken us entirely by surprise, Mr. 
Ingram ! ” she said in her high-pitched voice. “ When 
Ann told me that it was you, I would scarcely believe 
her. We thought you were in Paris.” 

‘‘ I had to come to London on business, so I thought 
I would run down to see how you all are,” I answered. 
“ I hope my visit is not inconvenient ? ” 

“ Oh no,” answered the old lady. “ I’ve told Edith, 
and she will be down in a moment. She’s been worry- 
ing for the past week because she has received no 
letter from you.” 


i 62 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“Well, I’ve come personally, Miss Foskett,” I 
laughed. “ I hope my presence will partly make up 
for my failure as a correspondent.” 

Her grey, wizened face puckered into a smile. I 
knew that she had not altogether approved of Edith 
becoming engaged to me. But her niece was of age, 
mistress of her fortune, and, I shrewdly suspected, 
contributed handsomely towards the expenses of that 
small, prim household. 

Although Aunt Hetty was of a somewhat trenchant 
type, and shook her head over the willful vagaries of 
a world that had outgrown her philosophy of life, yet 
she still preserved a motherly instinct of patient love 
for all mankind. She was in common with most 
maiden aunts, a great church-goer and firm supporter 
of the parish clergy of Great By burgh ; but in paro- 
chial matters I believe she was more dreaded than 
loved for the uncompromising force of her doctrine 
and demeanour. She was severe on the faults and 
failings of her inferiors, and apt to discriminate in her 
almsgiving. Frequent curtseys and a little adroit 
flattery from “ the poor ” were a surer road to her 
purse than morose merit, however great. 

The old lady straightened out an antimacassar that 
chanced to be a trifle awry, then, spreading out her 
skirts slowly, seated herself, and began to relate to 
me gossip concerning people whom I knew in the 
neighbourhood — the squire, the doctor, the parson, 
and other local worthies, all of whom, taken together, 
made up her quiet little world. 

At last the door opened again, and next instant, as 
I sprang up, I became conscious of a fair vision in a 
simple white gown standing before me. The touch 
of her soft, tiny hand, the love-glance of those beauti- 


Dawn 


163 

ful e3^es, the glad smile of welcome, the music of that 
voice, came upon me as a sudden revelation. Her 
perfect type of English loveliness became disclosed to 
me for the first time. She was absolutely incompa- 
rable, although never before that moment had I realised 
the truth. But in that instant I became aware that 
she held me irrevocably beneath her spell. 

I took her hand, and our eyes met. My gaze wav- 
ered beneath hers, and what words I uttered in re- 
sponse to her greeting I cannot tell. All that I knew 
was that I was unworthy of her love. 


CHAPTEE XYII 


EDITH AUSTIN 

For a time our conversation was somewhat stilted. 
Then Aunt Hetty rose suddenly, with a loud rustling 
of her stiff silks, made the excuse that she had to 
speak with the servants, and discreetly left the 
room. 

The instant the door had closed, Edith moved to- 
wards me, and we became locked in one another’s 
arms. She was full of inexpressible sweetness and 
perfect grace. The passion that had at once taken 
possession of her soul had the force, the rapidity, the 
resistless violence of the torrent ; but she was herself 
as “ moving delicate,” as fair, as soft, as flexible as the 
willow that bends over it, whose light leaves tremble 
even with the motion of the current which hurries be- 
neath them. 

Love lit within my breast a clear fire that burned 
to my heart’s very core. Edith could scarce speak, so 
overjoyed was she at my visit ; but at last, as I pressed 
her to me, and rained kisses upon her brow, she said, 
looking up at me with a glance of reproach : 

“You have not written to me for ten whole days, 
Gerald ! Why was that ? Last night I sent you a 
telegram asking if you were ill.” 

“ Forgive me, dearest,” I urged. “ This last week 
I’ve been extremely busy. There have been serious 
political complications, and, in addition, I’ve had a 
164 


Edith Austin 1 65 

perfect crowd of engagements which duty compelled 
me to attend.” 

“ You go and enjoy yourself at all sorts of gay re- 
ceptions and great dinners, and forget me,” she de- 
clared, pouting prettily. 

“ I never forget you, Edith,” I answered. “ Don’t 
say that. You are ever in my thoughts, even though 
sometimes I may be too much occupied to write.” 

“ Do you assert then that for the past ten days you 
have absolutely not had five minutes in which to send 
me news of yourself ? ” she cried in a tone of doubt. 

“Well, perhaps I had better admit that I’ve been 
neglectful,” I said, altering my tactics. “ But, you 
see, I knew that I should come here to-day, so I 
thought to take you by surprise. Are you pleased to 
see me ? ” 

“ Pleased ! ” she echoed, raising her lips to mine. 
“ Why, of course I am ! You seem always so far 
away, and I always fear — ” and she paused without 
concluding her sentence. 

“ Well, what do you fear ? ” 

“ I fear that amid all that whirl of pleasure in Paris, 
and amid all those smart women you must meet daily, 
you will forget me.” 

“ I shall never do that,” I answered reassuringly. 

She was silent for a moment. Her countenance had 
assumed a very grave expression. 

“Ah,” she said, with a slight sigh, “you do not 
know how I sometimes suffer, Gerald. I am always 
fearing that some other woman may rob me of you.” 

“ Ho, no, dearest,” I answered, laughing. “ Hever 
contemplate that, for such a theft is not possible. 
Kemember that my duty in a foreign capital is to rep- 
resent my country at the various social functions, and 


i66 Her Majesty’s Minister 

to endeavour to promote good feeling wherever I can. 
A diplomatist who is not popular with the women 
never rises to the post of ambassador. To be gallant 
is essential, however one may despise and detest the 
crowd of voluble females upon whom one must dance 
attendance.’’ 

‘‘I often sit here and picture you in your smart 
diplomatic uniform flirting with some pretty foreign 
woman in a dimly lit arbour or conservatory,” she ob- 
served, still very grave. “ My life is so very quiet 
and uneventful in comparison with yours ; ” and she 
sighed. 

“ The charge against me of flirtation is entirely un- 
founded,” I declared, holding her hand and looking 
earnestly into her clear eyes, now filled with tears. 
“ It is true that sometimes, for purposes connected 
with our diplomacy, I chat merrily with some grande 
dame in an endeavour to pick up information regard- 
ing the latest change in the political wind ; but with 
me the art of pleasing women is a profession, as it is 
with every man in the Diplomatic Service.” 

“ I know,” she said in a strained tone. “ And in 
those hours of pleasure you forget me. Is not that 
so?” 

“ I do not forget a certain summer evening up in 
Scotland when we walked out after dinner and strolled 
together down by the rippling burn,” I said in a low 
voice, pressing her closer to me. “ I do not forget 
what words I uttered then, nor do I forget your re- 
sponse — that you loved me, darling.” 

“ But there are others, more attractive than myself, 
whom you must meet constantly at those brilliant re- 
ceptions of which I read in the newspapers,” she cried, 
bursting into tears. 


Edith Austin 167 

“ They are foreign women,” I declared, “ and I hate 
them all.” 

“ Ah,” she cried in a tremulous voice, “ if I could 
only believe what you tell me is the truth ! ” 

“ It is the truth, dearest,” I said, kissing her tears 
away. “We are parted ; but the quiet, even life you 
live here is far happier and more healthful than one 
passed in the stifling atmosphere of politics and per- 
fume in which I am compelled to exist. The ladies’ 
newspapers tell you of the various entertainments in 
Paris, and describe the gay toilettes and all that kind 
of thing ; but those journals say nothing of the un- 
fortunate diplomatists who are compelled to ruin their 
digestions and wreck their constitutions by late hours 
in the service of their country.” 

She was silent, and I felt her hand trembling in 
mine. I looked upon her fair face, and lovingly 
stroked the dark tendrils of hair from her brow. 
What she had said had aroused within me some 
qualms of conscience ; but, loving her, I strove to re- 
assure her of my perfect and unwavering fidelity. 
Women, however, are difficult to deceive. They pos- 
sess a marvellous instinct where love is concerned, and 
are able to read their lovers’ heart at a glance. No 
diplomatist, however expert in the art of prevarica- 
tion, can ever hope to mislead a woman who is in love. 

“ I often doubt, Gerald, whether you really love me 
as truly as you have declared,” she said in a low tone, 
at last. “ Perhaps it is because you are absent, and I 
think of you so much and wonder so often what you 
are doing.” 

“My absence is compulsory,” I answered, adding 
earnestly: “I love you, Edith, however much you 
may doubt my protestations.” 


i68 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“Ah!” she answered, smiling through her tears. 
“ If I could only believe that what you say is true ! 
But it is said that you people at the embassies never 
speak the truth.” 

“ To you, dearest, I speak the truth when I say that 
I love no other woman save yourself. You are mine 
— you are all the world to me.” 

“ And yet you have neglected to write to me for ten 
whole days ! The man who really loves is not so for- 
getful of the object of his affections.” 

She was piqued at my neglect. Such was the sim- 
plicity, the truth, and the loveliness of her character 
that at first I had not been aware of its complexity, 
its depth, and its variety. The intensity of passion, 
the singleness of purpose, and the sweetly confiding 
nature presented a combination which came near to 
defying analysis. I now saw in her attitude at this 
moment the struggle of love against evil destinies and 
a thorny world ; the pain, the anguish, the terror, the 
despair, and the pang unutterable of parted affection. 
My heart went out to her. 

“ But I thought you had forgiven,” I said seriously. 
“ I have come myself to spend a few hours with you. 
I have come here to repeat my love ; ” and, bending, I 
kissed the slim, delicate little hand I held. 

But she withdrew it quickly ; for there was a sud- 
den movement outside in the hall, and Aunt Hetty 
entered fussily with the news that luncheon was wait- 
ing, and that she had ordered an extra cover to be 
laid for me. 

The dining-room was just as antiquated as the 
musty drawing-room, and just as inartistic, save that 
the oak beams in the low ceiling were mellowed by 
age and the dark panelling presented a more cosy ap- 


Edith Austin 


169 

pearance than the awful green and red wall-paper of 
the state apartment. I knew Miss Foskett’s cuisine 
of old, and seated myself at table with some misgiv- 
ing. True to my expectation, the meal proved a ter- 
ribly formal one, with Aunt Hetty seated at the head 
of the table directing Ann by movements of her eye- 
brows, talking but little except to intersperse some 
remarks sarcastic or condemnatory ; while to us were 
served several extremely indigestible specimens of 
English culinary art. 

Aunt Henrietta, a strict observer of all the conven- 
tionalities, was never tired of referring to the exem- 
plary youth of her day ; but above all she had, in the 
course of her lonely life, developed the keenest and 
most obtrusive nose for a lie. She was one of those 
who would, uninvited, join in a casual conversation 
and ask the luckless conversationalist to verify his 
statements with chapter and verse. She would stop 
in the streets and challenge with soul-searching doubts 
the remark that it was a “ Fine day.” Aristophanes 
invented an adjective to describe this ancient and 
modern product ; it is a long word, but it describes 
her : 6p6po-<poiro-ffuico<pdvTo-dt/co-TaXa{7tajpo^, which, being 
interpreted, is, “ early-prowling-base-informing-sad-li- 
tigious-plaguey.” She was fond of picking one up in a 
quotation if one changed a mere ‘‘ yet ” for a ‘‘ but ” ; 
and would nag all round until she had silenced the 
conversation. Knowing her peculiarities, I hazarded 
but few remarks at table, and carefully avoided mak- 
ing any distinct statement, lest she should pounce 
upon it. 

At last, with a feeling of oppression relieved, we 
rose, not, however, before Aunt Hetty had invited me 
to remain the night, and I had accepted. I should be 


lyo Her Majesty’s Minister 

compelled, I knew, to leave Charing Cross by the 
night mail on the morrow, much as I desired to re- 
main a few days in that rural retreat beside the 
woman I loved. 

For an hour or so we idled together beneath the 
trees in the quaint old garden, where Edith had caused 
the gardener to swing the hammock I had sent her 
from Paris. When the sun began to lose its power 
she put on her large flop hat of Leghorn straw trimmed 
with poppies, and we strolled together through 
the quiet village, between its rows of homely cottages, 
many of them covered with creepers and flowering 
plants, until we came to the winding Wensum river, 
which we followed by the footpath lined with poplars, 
past the old mill, and away into the country. Hand- 
in-hand we wandered, neither uttering a word for 
some little time, both of us too full of our own 
thoughts. 

Suddenly, in Guist Wood, where the stream with 
its cooling music wound among the polished stems of 
the beeches, with the sunshine glinting down upon 
them through the veil of leaves, we halted, standing 
ankle deep in soft moss and nodding wild-flowers. 
Her beauty and her silence had stuck a new, intoler- 
able conviction of guilt into my heart. 

She turned her flawless face to mine as though with 
firm resolve, and then in a hoarse, strained voice told 
me plainly that her love for me was all a mistake. 

“ A mistake that you love me, Edith ! ” I repeated, 
holding both her hands tightly in mine, and looking 
straight into her clear, dark, fathomless eyes. 

“Yes,” she insisted. Her colour went, and her 
eyes fell away from mine. 

“Then why have you so changed?” I asked. 


Edith Austin 


171 

quickly. “I have always, since that evening beside 
the burn, regarded you as my affianced wife.” 

She closed her lips tightly, and I saw that tears 
welled in her eyes. 

“ My happy dream is over,” she said bitterly, “ and 
the awakening has come.” 

“No,” I cried, “you cannot say that, Edith. You 
do not mean it, I’m sure ! Kemember the early days 
of our love, and recollect that my affection for you is 
as strong now as then — indeed, stronger to-day 
than it has ever been.” 

She was silent. In that moment my new-found 
happiness of those days in Scotland all came back to 
me. I remembered that summer-time of long linger- 
ing beneath the shadowy glades of the glen ; of moon- 
light wanderings along the lanes, of love-trysts under 
the rising sun, by rose-garlanded and dew-spangled 
hedgerows. Ah ! many had been the vows we had 
plighted in the deep heart of Scottish hills during 
those golden summer days, and many were the lovers’ 
kisses taken and given under the influences of those 
long balmy evenings, when merely to idle was to be 
instinct with the soul of passion and of poetry. 

“I remember those days,” she answered. “They 
were the dawning days of our love. No afterglow of 
passion can ever give back the subtle charm of those 
sweet hours of unspoken joy. But it is all past, 
Gerald, and there is now a breach between us.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked anxiously. “I do 
not understand.” 

“ I have already told you,” she answered in a hard 
voice, “You love another woman more than you 
love me. Ah, Gerald ! you cannot know how I have 
suffered these past months, ever since the truth gradu- 


172 Her Majesty's Minister 

ally became apparent. All through these summer 
days I have wandered about the country alone, re- 
visiting our old haunts where we had lingered and 
talked when you were here twelve months ago. 
Years seem to have passed over my head since that day 
in June when you last stood here and held my hand 
in yours. But now you have slipped slowly from me. 
I have drunk deeply of the cup of knowledge, and life’s 
cruellest teachings have been branded upon my heart.” 

But why ? ” I cried. “ I cannot see that you have 
any cause whatever for sadness. True, we are com- 
pelled to be apart for the present, but it will not be 
so always. Your life is, I know, a rather monoto- 
nous one, but soon all will be changed — when you are 
my wife.” 

“ Ah,” she sighed, “ I shall never be that — never ! ” 

‘‘ Why not ? ” 

“ Because I see — I see now,” she faltered, “ that I 
am not fitted to become a diplomatist’s wife. I have 
no tact, no smartness, no experience of the kind that 
is so absolutely necessary for the wife and helpmate 
of a man who is rising to distinction. I should only 
be a burden. You will find some other woman more 
brilliant, more chic, and thoroughly versed in all the 
ways of Society. You must marry her ; ” and with a 
woman’s weakness she burst into tears. 

‘‘]^o, no!” I cried, kissing her upon the brow and 
drawing her closely to me in an effort to comfort her. 
“ Who has been putting such ideas into your mind, 
darling ? Who has told you that love can be curbed, 
trained, and controlled ? Love does not stop to ques- 
tion right or wrong ; it is spontaneous, irresponsible, 
and born of itself in one’s heart. And I love you,” I 
whispered into her ear. 


Edith Austin 


173 

She was silenced, as a true woman must always be 
by her lover’s voice, no matter how specious may be 
his protestations ; for there is no argument that can 
withstand the magic of the lover’s touch or the light 
in the eyes of the man a woman loves, and the 
glamour of low, caressing words that steal their way 
to her innermost heart. 

“ Are you sure, quite sure, that you really love me 
sufficiently to sacrifice yourself for my sake ? ” she 
faltered through her tears. 

“ Sacrifice myself ! ” I echoed. “ It is no sacrifice, 
darling. We love each other, and in future the 
course of our lives must be along the same path, no 
matter what may be the obstacles.” 

“ I wish I could think so,” she said ; while a faint 
smile, sweet and tender as the sunshine of May, 
gleamed for a moment about her eyes and lips. 

The heart of a woman who loves is the most com- 
plex and subtle thing on earth ; and often when most 
she protests, she most longs to be faithless to the 
spirit of her own protestation. 

I looked at her now fully and firmly. There was, 
I think, terror in my eyes — the terror of losing her, 
which her last words had suddenly conjured up. 

“But cannot I convince you?” I cried. “Will 
you not accept what I tell you as the truth, darling ? 
Will you not believe that I love you still?” 

I stooped, and taking her fair face in my hands, 
tenderly kissed her brow, just as I had kissed her in 
the days when our love had dawned. 

“ I have tried,” she answered bitterly, “ but cannot. 
Alas ! it is a woman’s part to suffer ; ” and her breast 
heaved slowly and fell again. 

How pathetic were her great dark eyes, how attract- 


174 Her Majesty’s Minister 

ive was the delicate face with its refined outline, how 
tenderly seductive those tremulous lips which no man 
had kissed save myself ! That she suffered an agony 
of heart because of the suspicion that I no longer 
loved her truly was more than plain. It became her 
creed — the creed of the martyr and the enthusiast, 
which comes to some women by nature with the air 
they breathe, and is an accentuation of one of the 
finest instincts of human nature. 

“ But you shall not suffer thus, my darling ! ” I 
cried. “ You shall not, for I love you truly, honestly, 
and well. You shall be my wife. You have already 
promised, and you shall not draw back, for I love you 
— I love you ! ” 


CHAPTEE XVIII 


BY DAY AND BY NIGHT 

She put up both her small white hands as though 
to stay the torrent of passionate words which I 
poured forth ; but I grasped her wrists and held her 
to me until I had told her all the longings of my soul. 

What she had said had caused me a stab of unutter- 
able pain, for my conscience was pricked by the 
knowledge that I had for a brief moment forsaken 
her in favour of Yolande. But she could not know 
the real truth. It was only by her woman’s natural 
intuition that she held me in suspicion, believing that 
by my neglect to write I had proved myself attracted 
by some member of that crowd of feminine butterflies 
who flit through the embassies, showing their bright 
colours and dazzling effects. 

At last she lifted her face, and in a low, faltering 
voice said : 

“I do not wish that we should part, Gerald. I have 
no one but you.” 

“ And God knows — God knows, darling, I have no 
one but you ! ” I cried brokenly ; and as I uttered these 
words she cast her arms about my neck, clinging to me, 
sobbing, with her face lying close against my breast. 

“ My darling — my own darling ! ” was all I could 
murmur as I kissed away the tears that rained down 
her cheeks. I could say nothing more definite than 
that. 


175 


176 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ You will not be false, will you ? ” she implored 
at last. “You will not break your promise, will 
you ? ” 

“ I will never do that, dearest,” I assured her. “ I 
love you, upon my word of honour as a man. I have 
loved you ever since that day when we first met at 
the house-party up in Scotland — the night of my 
arrival when you sat opposite me at dinner. Do you 
remember ? ” 

“Yes,” she answered, smiling, “I remember. My 
love for you, Gerald, has never wavered for one single 
instant.” 

“ Then why should you be unhappy ? ” I asked. 

“ I really cannot tell,” she answered. She turned 
her face, and I saw that there was a shadow across it, 
as though the sunshine of her life had gone behind a 
bank of cloud. “ All I can compare this strange fore- 
boding to is the shadow of an unknown danger which 
seems of late to have arisen, and to stand in a wall of 
impenetrable blackness between us.” 

“ No, no ! ” I hastened to urge, “ the sweet idyll of 
our blameless love must be preserved. That fancy of 
yours is only a vague, unfounded one.” 

She shook her head dubiously. 

“ It is always with me. During my long, solitary 
wanderings here I think of you, and then it arises to 
overshadow me and crush out all my happiness,” she 
said in a tone of sorrow. 

“Your life is dismal and lonely here,” I said. 
“You’ve become nervous and melancholy. Why not 
have a change ? Persuade your aunt to bring you to 
Paris, or, if not, to some place near, where we may 
meet often.” 

“ No,” she replied in a harsh tone. “ My presence 


By Day and by Night 177 

in Paris is not wanted. You are better without me. 
You must leave England again to-morrow — and you 
must forget.” 

“ Forget ! ” I gasped. “ Why ? ” 

“ It is best to do so,” she faltered with emotion. “ I 
am unfitted to become your wife.” 

“But you shall — ^you must!” I cried. “You have 
already given me your promise. You will not desert 
me now 1 ” 

She made no response. I pressed her again for an 
answer, but she maintained silence. Her attitude was 
one of firm resolve, and gave me the distinct impres- 
sion that she had gained some knowledge of the reason 
of our brief estrangement. 

“ Tell me the reason of your sudden disbelief in my 
declarations,” I urged, looking earnestly into her eyes. 
“ Surely I have given you no cause to regard our love 
as a mere irresponsible flirtation ? ” 

“ I have no reason to disbelieve you, Gerald,” she 
answered seriously ; “ yet I recognise the impossibility 
of our marriage.” 

“ Why is it impossible ? We are both controllers of 
our own actions. You will not remain here with your 
aunt all your days ? ” 

“We may marry, but we should not be happy, I 
feel certain.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because if I were your wife I could not bear to 
think you were out each night dancing attendance 
upon a crowd of foreign women at the various func- 
tions which you are in duty bound to attend.” 

I smiled at her argument. Ignorant of the world 
and its ways, and knowing nothing of Society beyond 
that gossiping little circle of tea-drinkers and tennis- 


lyS Her Majesty’s Minister 

players which had its centre in the town of Fakenham, 
and had as leader the portly wife of the estimable in- 
cumbent, she saw herself neglected among the brilliant 
crowd in Paris as described by the so-called “ Society ” 
papers. 

I hastened to reassure her, and as we strolled on 
through the wood and, following the meandering of 
the river, emerged upon the broad grass-lands before 
Sennowe Hall, I used every argument of which I was 
capable in order to dispel her absurd apprehensions. 
My protestations of love I repeated a hundred times, 
striving to impress upon her that I was actually in 
earnest ; but she repelled me always, until of a sudden 
I halted beneath the willows, and, placing my arm 
around her slim waist, narrowly girdled by its crimson 
ribbon, I drew her again to me, saying : 

“ Tell me, Edith, plainly, whether or no you' love 
me. These cold words of yours have struck me to the 
heart, and I feel somehow that in my absence you have 
found some other man Avho has your gratitude, your 
respect, and your love.” 

She raised her hand, as though to stay the flow of 
my words. 

“Ho, no!” I went on passionately. “You must 
hear me, for you seem to be gradually slipping away 
from me. You must hear me ! Cast away this cold 
sweetness that is enough to madden any man. Give 
me a right to your love ; give me a right to it ! You 
cannot be indifferent to such a love as mine unless 
you love some one else.” 

“ Stop 1 ” she cried, moved by a sudden generous im- 
pulse. “ I love no one else but you.” 

“ And you admit that you still love me ? You will 
be the same to me as before ? ” I cried eagerly. 


By Day and by Night 179 

“If you will swear that there is no thought of 
another woman in your heart,” she answered seriously. 

A pang of conscience smote me ; but inwardly I re- 
assured myself that all the fascination of Yolande had 
been dispelled and that my love was free. 

“ I swear,” I said ; then slowly I bent until our 
lips touched. 

Hers met mine in a fierce, passionate caress, and by 
that I knew our compact was sealed. 

“ I admit,” she said, “ that my instinct, if it were 
instinct, was wrong. You have, after all, proved 
yourself loyal to me.” 

“ And I shall remain so, darling,” I assured her, 
kissing her again upon the brow. “ For the present 
you must be content to remain with your aunt ; but 
nevertheless, try to persuade her to come to Paris. 
Then we can spend many happy days together.” 

“ She hates the Continent and foreigners,” answered 
my love with a brightening smile. “I fear I can 
never persuade her to move from here. She went to 
Switzerland twenty years ago, and has never ceased 
condemning foreign travel.” 

“If she will not come, then why not engage a 
chaperon ? You surely know some pleasant woman 
who would be pleased to have a holiday jaunt.” 

“Well,” she answered dubiously, “I’ll try, but I 
fear Aunt Hetty will never hear of it.” 

“ The life in the profound stillness of that house and 
the rigid seclusion from all worldly enjoyment are 
producing an ill effect upon your health, darling,” I 
said presently. “ You must have a change. It is im- 
perative.” 

But she only sighed, smiled rather sadly, and an- 
swered in a low voice : 


i8o Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ The quietness of life here is nothing to me, as long 
as I am confident that your love for me is just the 
same as it was when you first told me the secret of 
your heart.” 

“ It is,” I assured her— “ it is, darling. I love you— 
and you alone.” 

There was an instant’s hesitation, and then her 
arms stole gently to my neck, and her lips were pressed 
to the cheek I bent to them, but only for a second ; 
then my lips were upon hers, clinging to them softly, 
passionately ; and in those moments of ecstasy I drew 
my soul’s life from that sweet mouth. 

Heedless of time, we stood there in each other’s em- 
brace, repeating our vows of love and devotion, until 
the sun went down behind the low hills beyond Kayn- 
ham, and the broad pastures were flooded by the 
purple glow of the dying day. Happy and content in 
each other’s affection, we were careless of the past, and 
recked not of the future. Edith loved me, and I wished 
for naught else in all the world. 

How as I sit committing this strange story of my 
dife — this confidential chapter in the modern history of 
Europe — to paper, I recall every detail of those hours 
we spent down by the riverside, and contrast it with 
the curious events which followed — events which were 
so strange as to be inexplicable until the ghastly truth 
became revealed. But I loved, and my affection was 
reciprocated. That surely was sufficient, for I knew 
that I had gained the purest, most beautiful, and 
sweetest woman I had ever met. 

At last the fading sunlight impressed upon us the 
fact that the dinner-hour was approaching ; and, 
knowing Miss Foskett’s punctuality at meals, we were 
compelled to strike along the footpath over Dunham 


By Day and by Night i8i 

Hill, and take the shortest cut across the fields through 
the little hamlet of Gateley, and thence by a grass- 
grown byroad back to Great Ry burgh, where we 
arrived just as the gong sounded. 

When we reentered the dining-room. Aunt Hetty 
glanced at us keenly, as though she wished to make 
some sarcastic comment upon our long absence ; but 
our pleasant demeanour apparently silenced her, and 
she contented herself by taking her seat at table and 
inquiring of me if I had had a pleasant walk, and 
whether I found the country agreeable after the dusty 
boulevards of Paris. 

“ Of course,’’ I answered, “ I always find England 
charming, and I’m very frequently homesick, living 
as I do among foreigners always. But why don’t 
you come abroad for a month or so, and bring 
Edith ? ” 

“ Abroad ! ” screamed the old lady, holding up her 
hands. “ Hever ! I went to Lucerne once, and found 
it horrible.” 

“ But that was some years ago, was it not ? If you 
went now, you would find that travelling has greatly 
improved, with a through sleeping-car from Calais to 
Basle ; hotels excellent, and food quite as good as you 
can obtain in England. During the past few years 
hotel-keepers on the Continent have awakened to the 
fact that if they wish to be prosperous they must cater 
for English visitors.” 

“ Oh, do let us go abroad, aunt ! ” urged Edith. “ I 
should so much enjoy it ! ” 

‘‘ Paris in summer is worse than London, I’ve heard, 
my dear,” answered Miss Foskett, in her high-pitched 
tone. 

“ But there are many pretty places within easy 


i 82 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

reach of the capital,” I remarked. “Edith speaks 
French ; therefore you need have no hesitation on that 
score.” 

“No,” said the old lady decisively, “we shall not 
move from Ryburgh this summer, but perhaps next 
Avinter ” 

“Ah!” cried Edith joyously. “Yes, capital ! Let 
us go abroad next winter, to the Riviera, or somewhere 
where it’s warm. It would be delightful to escape all 
the rain and cold, and eat one’s Christmas dinner in the 
sunshine. You know the South, Gerald ? What place 
do you recommend ? ” 

“ Well,” I said, “any place along the Riviera except, 
perhaps, Monte Carlo.” 

“ Monte Carlo ! ” echoed Aunt Hetty. “ That 
wicked place ! I hope I shall never see it. Mr. 
Harbur told us in his sermon the other Sunday about 
the frightful gambling there, and hoAv people hanged 
themselves on the trees in the garden. Please don’t 
talk of such places, Edith.” 

“ But, aunt, there are many beautiful resorts in the 
neighbourhood,” her niece protested. “ All along 
the coast there are toAvns where the English go to 
avoid the winter, such as Cannes, Nice, Mentone, and 
San Remo.” 

“Well,” responded Miss Foskett with some asperity, 
“ we need not discuss in August what we shall do in 
December. Ry burgh is quite pleasant enough for me. 
When I Avas your age I employed my time Avith em- 
broidery and wool-Avork, and never troubled my head 
about foreign travel. But nowadays,” she added Avith 
a sigh, “ I really don’t knoAV what young people are 
coming to.” 

“We’ve advanced Avith the times, and they’ve 


By Day and by Night 183 

emancipated women in England,” responded Edith 
mischievously, glancing merrily across at me. 

Miss Foskett drew herself up primly, and declared 
that she hoped her niece would never become one of 
“those dreadful creatures who ape the manners of 
men ; ” to which my love replied that liberty of action 
was the source of all happiness. 

Fearing that this beginning might end in a heated 
argument, I managed to turn the conversation into a 
different channel. 

“ If all we read in the newspapers is true, it would 
seem,” observed Aunt Hetty presently, “that you 
diplomatists have a most difficult task in Paris.” 

“ All is not true,” I laughed. “ Much of what you 
read exists only in the minds of those imaginative gen- 
tlemen called Paris correspondents.” 

“ I suppose,” remarked Edith, smiling, “ that it is 
impossible for either a diplomatist or a journalist to 
tell the truth always.” 

“ Truth, no doubt, is all very well in its place, and 
now and then in diplomacy, but only a sparing use 
should be made of it as a rule,” I answered. “ But 
there should be no waste. Only those should be 
allowed to handle it who can use it with discretion, 
and who will ladle it out with caution.” 

“Mr. Ingram, I am surprised!” interrupted Miss 
Foskett, scandalised. 

“ It is our creed,” I went on, “ that truth should be 
always spoken in a dead or foreign language, no home- 
truths being for a moment tolerated. How think what 
a happy land this England of ours would be if only we 
were not so wedded to the bare, cold truth ! Suppose 
for its own good purposes our Government has thought 
right to make a hasty dash for the back seats in the 


184 Her Majesty’s Minister 

international scrimmage, and to adhere to them with 
all the tenacity of a limpet, why, for all that, should 
the Opposition journals blurt out the fact for our 
humiliation, when by a few deft scratches of the pen 
the leader-writer might easily make us believe that no 
back seat had ever in any circumstances been occupied 
by Britain, and that the nose of the lion had never 
been pulled out of any hole into which it had once 
been inserted ? The itch for truth is, judged from a 
diplomatist’s point of view, responsible for the ruin of 
our policy towards our enemies.” 

“ Shocking, Mr. Ingram ! I’m surprised to find that 
you hold such views,” said Miss Foskett in a soured 
tone ; while Edith laughed merrily, declaring that she 
fully agreed with my argument, much to her aunt’s 
discomfiture. 

The old lady loved the harsh truth as propounded 
by the precisionist. 

And so the dinner proceeded, each of us vying with 
the other to dispel Aunt Hetty’s deep-seated prejudices 
and narrow-minded views of the world and its ways. 

Coffee was served in the drawing-room, where Edith 
went to the piano and sang in her sweet contralto 
several of my favourite songs, after which, at an early 
hour, as was usual with the household at Ky burgh, 
we all retired. 

To sleep so quickly after dinner was to me impossi- 
ble ,* therefore, on gaining my room, I lit a cigar, and, 
taking a novel from my bag, sat reading. The book 
proved interesting; and time had passed unnoticed, 
until of a sudden my attention was attracted by the 
sound of low voices. I listened, glancing at the clock, 
and noticed that it was nearly two in the morning. 

A suspicion of burglars at once flashed across my 


By Day and by Night 185 

mind. I blew out my candles, so as not to attract at- 
tention, noiselessly opened the wooden shutters before 
my window, and cautiously gazed out. The lawn, 
garden, and wide sweep of country beyond lay 
bathed in the bright moonlight, and at first I distin- 
guished no one. Peering down, however, until I could 
see the path running in the shadow just below my 
window, I distinguished two figures with hands 
clasped, as though in parting. I looked again, scarce 
believing my own eyes. But I was not mistaken. 
One figure was that of a woman, her dark cloak open 
at the throat, revealing her white dress beneath ; while 
the other was the tall dark figure of a man in a long 
black overcoat, the collar of which was turned up as 
though to conceal his features. Even though they 
stood together in the dark shadow, the astounding 
truth was plain to me. The woman who had kept 
that midnight assignation was Edith Austin, my well- 
beloved. 

My heart stood still. 


CHAPTER XIX 


WHISPERED WORDS 

The revelation held me rigid. I stood there, peer- 
ing down, watching their movements, and straining 
my ears to catch the whispered words. As I feared 
to open the window lest the noise should attract 
them, I could do no more than remain a spectator of 
Edith’s perfidy. To me it seemed as though she had 
been walking with him, and he had accompanied 
her back to the house. As he held her hand, he was 
bending, whispering some earnest words into her ear. 
She did not attempt to withdraw ; indeed, it was ap- 
parent that she was not unwilling. The conclusion 
to be made was that they were lovers. 

Reader, can you imagine my feelings at this as- 
tounding discovery ? Only six hours before we had 
stood beside the river, and she had vowed that for no 
man save myself had she any place in her heart ; yet 
with my own eyes I was watching her while she be- 
lieved me sleeping in calm ignorance of her move- 
ments. That she had been walking with him was 
apparent, because of the shawl she wore wrapped 
about her head ; while the fact that the stranger 
carried a stout stick showed that he had walked, or 
was about to walk, a considerable distance. Because 
his hat was drawn over his brow and his coat collar 
turned up, I could not see his features. To me, as he 
stood there, he appeared to be slightly round-sboul- 
18 a 


Whispered Words 187 

dered, but, nevertheless, a strongly built fellow, seem- 
ingly rather above the average height. 

How long she had been absent from the house I 
could not tell. Her light step across the lawn had 
not attracted my attention. Only his low, gruff voice 
on their return had caused me to listen. There was a 
French window near where they were standing, and 
it was evident that by means of this she had secretly 
left the house. 

Across the moon there drifted a strip of fleecy 
cloud, hiding the lawn and garden for a few moments ; 
then suddenly all became brilliant again, and, looking 
down, I saw that she had moved, and was uncon- 
sciously in the full white light. I caught sight of her 
countenance, so that her identity became undeniable. 
He was urging her to speak, but she remained silent. 
Again and again he whispered into her ear, but she 
shook her head. At last she spoke. I heard what 
she said, for I had contrived to raise the sash an inch 
or two. 

‘‘Very well, I promise,” she said. “He leaves to- 
morrow.” 

“ And you will not fail ? ” asked the gruff voice of 
her clandestine companion. 

“Ho. Adieu!” 

And as I watched I saw his dark figure striding 
away in the full moonlight across the lawn. He did 
not glance back, but went straight over to the belt of 
elms on the left, and a few minutes later was lost to 
view, while the woman I loved had apparently re- 
entered the house by the dining-room window, and 
was creeping silently to her room. 

The one thought that gripped my heart and froze 
my senses was that Edith was false to me. She had 


i88 Her Majesty’s Minister 

a lover whom she met at dead of night and with whom 
she had a perfect understanding. She had made him 
a promise, the fulfillment of which was to take place 
when I had left. Had such things been told to me I 
would not have believed them, but I had seen with my 
own eyes and heard with my own ears. The truth 
was too terribly plain. Edith, the one woman in the 
world whom I had believed to be pure, honest, and 
upright, was false to me. I saw it all as I reclosed 
the shutters, relit the candles in their old silver 
sconces, and paced that ancient bedchamber. The 
reason of her attempt to evade me and to withdraw 
her promise of marriage was only too apparent. She, 
the woman whom I loved and in whom I had put all 
my faith, had a lover. 

As I reflected upon our conversation of that after- 
noon I saw in her uneasiness and her responses a self- 
condemnation. She dreaded lest I should discover 
the secret within her breast — the secret that, after all, 
she did not love me. The dark silhouette of that man 
standing forth in the brilliant light of the moon was 
photographed indelibly upon my memory. His out 
line struck me as that of a man of shabby attire, and 
I felt certain the hat drawn down upon his face was 
battered and worn. Indeed, I had a distinct conviction 
that he was some low-born lout from the neighbour- 
hood — a conviction aroused, I think, by her announce- 
ment that I was to leave on the morrow. She would 
have freedom of action then, I reflected bitterly. And 
her promise ? What, I wondered, had she promised ? 
The fellow had evidently been persuading her until 
she had at last given him her pledge. His gait was 
that of a man who knew the place well, the swinging 
step of one used to walking easily in rough places. 


Whispered Words 189 

His stick, too, was a rough ash, such as a town-bred 
lover would never carry, while his voice had, I felt 
certain, just a tinge of the Norfolk accent in it. That 
they should meet at dead of night in that clandestine 
manner was surely sufficiently suspicious, but those 
words I had overheard sounded ever in my ears as I 
paced from end to end of that old room with its som- 
bre, almost funereal, hangings. 

A great bitterness fell upon my heart. The woman 
whom I really loved had played me false ; and yet, 
when I reflected, I could not help admitting that per- 
haps, after all, I deserved this punishment. I had 
wavered from her and gone back to my old love, it 
was true. But I loved Edith well and truly, what- 
ever might have been the fascination of the smart, 
gesticulating, foreign beauty. She was mine in heart 
and mine alone. 

All my belief in woman’s affection or devotion had, 
in that instant, been dispelled. The truth had fallen 
upon me as a crushing blow, which staggered me, 
wrecking all my hopes and plans for the future. 

I tossed my things heedlessly into my bag, in readi- 
ness for early departure in the morning. I had been 
a fool, I knew. I was ever a fool where women were 
concerned. In the old days in Brussels my affection 
for Yolande had been strong and impetuous, burning 
with all the ardour of a first love ; yet the awakening 
had come, and I had tardily discovered that she had 
played me false. And in Edith’s case, although I en- 
tertained towards her such a real and deep affection 
as a man only extends to a woman once in his life- 
time, unfaithfulness had once again been my reward. 

I flung away my cigar. My agony of heart was 
too acute to be accurately described in words. You, 


IQO Her Majesty’s Minister 

my reader, who may have experienced the sudden 
breaking of your most cherished idol, can only rightly 
understand the chagrin, the intense bitterness, the 
spiritual desolation of that night watch. 

My candles were as nearly as possible burnt out. 
At length I took my hat, and, creeping noiselessly 
downstairs, passed through the dining-room, and let 
myself out by the window which Edith had entered. 
The first grey of dawn was spreading, and a sudden 
desire for fresh air had seized me. I felt stifled in 
that old room with its gloomy furniture and hangings. 
With the cool wind of early morning fanning my 
heated temples, I struck straight across the lawn in 
the direction taken by the mysterious lover. For 
some distance I traversed the boundary of the 
grounds, until I discovered a break in the oak fence, 
and, passing through it, found myself out upon the 
broad, undulating meadows which stretched away to 
the Beacon Hill and the tiny hamlet of Toftrees, noted 
for its ancient hall and quaint church steeple. Heed- 
less of where my footsteps led me, I went straight on, 
my mind full of the discovery I had made, my heart 
overflowing. Away to my left, from behind the low 
dark hills, the sky became flushed with the crimson 
light of dawn ; but all was still save the distant crow- 
ing of a cock and the howl of a dog in the far dis- 
tance. Behind me the bell of Kyburgh church solemnly 
chimed the hour, followed by other bells at greater 
distances. Then all was quiet again save for the soft 
rustling of the trees. The morning air was delicious, 
with a sweet fragrance everywhere. 

Suddenly, leaping a fence, I found myself upon the 
old coach-road that ran over the hills to Lynn, and 
continued along it without thought of distance or des- 


Whispered Words 191 

tination. I passed a carter with his team, and he 
wished me good-morning. His words aroused me, 
and I saw that I was nearing an unfamiliar village. 

“ What place is this ? ” I inquired. 

“ It’s Harpley, sir.” 

I thanked him and went my way. I had never 
heard of the place before ; but as I entered it the first 
rays of sunlight shot across the hills, and it certainly 
looked picturesque and typically English in the light 
of the dawn. I must have walked fully eight miles, 
and, being tired and thirsty, I noticed at the entrance 
of the village a small inn, upon which was the sign 
The Houghton Arms. The door stood open, and a 
burly man, evidently the landlord, was busy chopping 
wood in an outhouse at the side. 

“ Nice mornin’, sir,” he observed, looking up at me, 
probably astonished to see any one who was not a 
labourer astir at such an early hour. 

I returned his greeting, and inquired whether it was 
too early for a cup of tea and a rest. 

“ Not at all, sir,” he answered, laying down his axe 
and conducting me within. 

The place, in common with all village hostelries, 
smelt strongly of the combined fumes of shag and 
stale beer. Village innkeepers have a habit of polish- 
ing their well-seasoned furniture with sour beer ; hence 
the odour, which, to the patrons of such places, seems 
appetising. The perfume is to them as the hors 
d’oeuvre. 

The man, having shown me into a little parlour be- 
hind the tap-room, called loudly to “Jenny,” who 
turned out to be his wife. After this I had not long 
to wait before a pot of tea and a couple of poached 
eggs were at my disposal. 


192 Her Majesty’s Minister 

They were a homely pair, these two, full of local 
chatter. Harpley, the man informed me, was nine 
and a half miles from Great Eyburgh, and I saw by 
his manner that he was much exercised in his mind to 
know whence I had come and the reason for my being 
about at such an hour. The rural busybody wa« 
extremely inquisitive, but I did not permit his bucolic 
diplomacy to triumph. While I drank the tea and ate 
the eggs the landlord stood leaning against the door- 
lintel with his arms folded, garrulously displaying his 
Norfolk brogue. He evidently regarded me as one of 
those summer visitors from London who stay at the farm- 
houses, where hypocrisy terms them “ paying guests,” 
and I allowed him to adhere to his opinion. I learned 
from him that at six o’clock there was a train from 
Massingham station, half a mile away, which would 
convey me direct to Fakenham. This I resolved to 
take, for I could then return to Miss Foskett’s by a 
quarter to seven. A map of the county was hanging 
on the wall, and I had risen to look at the spot to 
which the landlord was pointing, when a footstep 
sounded in the narrow passage, and, turning, I caught 
sight of the dark figure of a man making his way out. 
The hat, the black overcoat, the figure, all were 
familiar. His head was turned away from me, so that 
I could not see his features, but in an instant I recog- 
nised him. 

He was Edith’s mysterious lover ! 


CHAPTER XX 


FROM DOWNING STREET TO PARIS 

I SPRANG quickly to the door, and looked down the 
passage out into the village street ; but he had already 
made his exit. By the time I had reached the porch 
of the inn he was already striding quickly along the 
dusty highway. He turned to glance back, and I per- 
ceived that he was thin-faced, with high cheek-bones 
and a small black beard. He was carrying his thick 
stick jauntily, and walking smartly, with an easy gait 
which at that moment struck me as being distinctly 
military. 

“ Who is that man ? ” I inquired eagerly of the land- 
lord, who stood beside me, evidently surprised at my 
sudden rush towards the door. 

“ A stranger, sir. I don’t know who he is.” 

“ When did he arrive ? ” 

“He came by the last train to Massingham last 
night, sir, and had a bed here. My missis, however, 
didn’t like the looks of ’im.” 

“Why?” 

“ Well, I don’t exactly know. There was something 
about him a bit peculiar. Besides, he went out before 
one o’clock, and didn’t return till an hour ago. Then 
he went up, washed, had a cup o’ tea in his room, 
paid, and now he’s gone.” 

“ Rather peculiar behaviour, isn’t it ? ” I suggested, 
hoping to find some clue to his identity from what this 
man might tell me. “ Did he have no luggage ? ” 

193 


194 Majesty’s Minister 

“None. He seemed a bit down on his luck. His 
clothes were very shabby, and he evidently hadn’t had 
a clean collar for a week.” 

Then the opinion I had formed of him— namely, 
that he was shabby genteel — was correct. 

“ You’re certain you’ve never seen him before ? ” 

“ Quite certain,” he replied. 

At that moment his wife entered, and, addressing 
her, he said : 

“ We’re talking of that stranger who’s just gone, 
missus. His movements were a bit suspicious, weren’t 
they ? ” 

“Yes. Why he should want to go out half the 
night wandering about the neighbourhood I can’t 
make out, unless he were a burglar or something o’ 
that sort,” the woman answered, adding : “ I shouldn’t 
be at all surprised to hear that one of the houses about 
here has been broken into. Anyhow, we’d know him 
again among a thousand.” 

“ What kind of man was he ? ” 

“ Tall and dark, with a beard, and a pair of eyes 
that seemed to look you through. He spoke all right, 
but I’ve my doubts as to whether he wasn’t a for- 
eigner.” 

“ A foreigner ! ” I echoed quickly, interested. 
“ What made you suspect that ? ” 

“ I really can’t tell. I had a suspicion of it the first 
moment I saw him. He pronounced his ‘ r’s ’ rather 
curiously. His clothes seemed to be of foreign cut, 
and his boots, although worn out, were unusually long 
and narrow. I brushed ’em this morning, and saw on 
the tabs a foreign name. I think it was ‘ Firenze,’ or 
something like that.” 

I reflected for an instant. The word “Firenze” 


From Downing Street to Paris 195 

was Italian for Florence, the town where the boots 
had evidently been made. Therefore the mysterious 
stranger might be Italian. 

“ You didn’t actually detect anything foreign in his 
style of speaking ? ” 

“ He didn’t speak much. He seemed very glum and 
thoughtful. I sent him up some toast with his tea, 
but he hasn’t touched it.” 

“ He didn’t say where he was going ? ” 

“ Hot a word. When he arrived he only explained 
that he had come by the last train from Lynn, and 
that he wanted a bed — that’s all. I should think by 
the look of him that he’s gone on tramp.” 

My first impulse was to follow him ; but on reflec- 
tion I saw that by doing so I should in all probability 
lose my train, and to dog the fellow’s footsteps would, 
after all, be of no benefit now that I knew the truth 
of Edith’s perfidy. So I stood there chatting, discuss- 
ing the stranger, and wondering who he could be. 

“ He’s up to no good, that I feel certain,” declared 
the landlord’s wife. “There’s something about him 
that aroused my suspicion at once last night. I can’t, 
however, explain what it was. But a man don’t 
prowl about all night to admire the moon.” 

And thus I waited until it was time to catch the 
train ; then, wishing the innkeeper and his wife good- 
morning, left them and strolled in the morning sun- 
light to the station, arriving at Fakenham shortly 
before seven. I took the short cut through Starmoor 
Wood to Ky burgh, and, finding Miss Foskett’s maid 
polishing the door-handle, entered and went upstairs. 

Upon the toilet-table was a telegram, which the 
maid said had just arrived, and on opening it I found 
a message from the Foreign Office, which had been 


196 Her Majesty’s Minister 

forwarded from the Club, asking me to call at the 
earliest possible moment, and to be prepared to return 
to my post by the afternoon service from Charing 
Cross. I knew what that implied. The Marquess 
desired me to bear a secret despatch to my Chief. 

I washed, tidied myself after my dusty walk, 
strapped my bag, and with a feeling of regret that I 
was compelled to meet my false love again face to 
face before departure, I descended the stairs. 

She was awaiting me, looking cool and fresh in her 
white gown, with a bunch of fresh roses she had 
plucked from the garden in her breast. She smiled 
gladly, and stretched forth her hand as though I were 
all the world to her. What admirable actresses some 
women are ! Her affected sweetness that yesterday 
had so charmed me now sickened me. The scales had 
fallen from my eyes, and I was angry with myself 
that I had ever allowed myself to lose control of my 
feelings and love her. She was false — false! That 
one thought alone ran in my mind as she laughed 
merrily. 

“ Why, Gerald, wherever have you been ? A tele- 
gram came for you by special messenger from Faken- 
ham at half-past six, and when Ann knocked at your 
door she found you were out. And you went out by 
the dining-room window, too.” 

“Yes,” I said, not without a touch of sarcasm, “I 
felt that I wanted fresh air, so I went for a stroll.” 

“You are an early bird,” she answered. “ Did you 
go far ? ” 

“ Ko, not very far. Only down the Lynn road a 
little way.” 

“ I always thought that you people in Paris never 
got up till your dejeuner at eleven ? ” 


From Downing Street to Paris 197 

“ I’m an exception,” I said shortly. “ I prefer the 
morning air in the country to lying in bed.” 

“ And the telegram ? Is it anything particular ? ” 

“Yes,” I answered. “I must leave at once. I am 
summoned to Downing Street, and must leave London 
this afternoon.” 

“ What ! return to Paris at once ? ” 

“Yes,” I replied. “It is an order from the Chief. 
There’s a train to London at 9:50, I think. I must 
not fail to catch that.” 

I had not kissed her, and I saw that she was some- 
what puzzled by my coolness. Did the fact that I 
had let myself out by the dining-room window give 
her any clue to the reason why I had chosen that 
mode of egress ? 

“ I thought you would remain here with us at least 
to-day,” she pouted. “ That’s the worst of diplomacy. 
You never seem to know what you may do next.” 

We were standing alone in the dining-room, where 
breakfast was already laid and the copper kettle was 
hissing above the spirit-lamp. As Aunt Hetty had 
not entered, it was upon the tip of my tongue to 
charge Edith with that clandestine meeting ; yet if I 
did so, I reflected, a scene would certainly be created. 
Aunt Hetty would first be scandalised and afterwards 
wax indignant, while my departure would doubtless 
be fraught with considerable unpleasantness. There- 
fore I resolved to keep my anger within my heart, and 
on my return to Paris to write a letter of explanation 
to this smiling, bright-faced woman who had thus 
played me false. 

“You cannot tell how wretched I am at the 
thought of your departure, Gerald,” she said, her 
dark eyes suddenly grave and serious. “ Each 


198 Her Majesty’s Minister 

time we part I always fear that we shall not meet 
again.” 

I smiled, rather bitterly, I think, and uttered some 
weak platitude without appearing to be much inter- 
ested. Then with a quick movement she took my 
hand, but next instant was compelled to drop it, for 
Miss Foskett entered suddenly, and, after an explana- 
tion of my unexpected call by telegram, we seated 
ourselves and breakfasted. 

As the woman I had so dearly loved sat opposite me 
I saw that she was strangely nervous and agitated, 
and that she was eager to question me; but with 
feigned indifference I chatted and laughed with the 
punctilious old spinster until the boy brought round 
the pony-trap and it was time for me to depart for 
Fakenham, where I could join the express for 
London. 

Edith drove me to the station, but, the boy being 
with us, she could say nothing confidential until we 
were walking together upon the platform. Then, 
looking at me in strange eagerness, she suddenly 
asked : 

“ Gerald, tell me why you are so cold towards me 
this morning? You were so different yesterday. 
Have I displeased you ? ” 

‘‘Yes,” I said in a hard voice, “ you have.” 

“ How ? ” she gasped, laying her gloved hand upon 
my arm and stopping short. 

I was silent. Should I tell her, or should I say 
nothing about my knowledge of her perfidy ? 

“ Why do you not speak ? ” she urged. “ Surely if 
I have caused you pain I ought to know the reason ! ” 

“You know the reason,” I answered in a mechanical 
voice, regarding her coldly. 


From Downing Street to Paris 199 

“ No, I do not.” 

‘‘ In this matter it is entirely unnecessary to lie to 
me, Edith,” I said ; “ I am aware of the truth.” 

“ The truth ? What truth ? ” 

‘‘ That you do not love me,” I said hoarsely. 

At that instant the train rushed into the station, 
and my voice was almost drowned by the noise of the 
escaping steam. As I thought she deserved to suffer, 
I was not sorry for the interruption. 

“ Gerald ! ” she cried, gripping me by the hand, 

what are you saying ? What have I done ? ” 

“ It is enough,” I answered, my voice broken by 
emotion, which I could no longer suppress, for my 
heart was at that moment bursting with grief. 
“ Good-bye ; ” and turning, I raised my hat and 
stepped into the empty compartment, in which a 
porter had placed my bag. 

In an instant she was leaning in at the doorway, 
imploring me to tell her the truth. But I evaded her 
questions. 

The guard came and closed the door. 

“ Gerald ! ” she cried, bursting into tears, ‘‘ tell me 
why you treat me thus when I love you so dearly ! 
It is cruel! You cannot guess how deeply I have 
suffered these two hours ! Will you not kiss me once 
before you go ? ” and she raised her white face to the 
window with an imploring expression. 

“ No,” I said, “ I cannot, Edith.” 

“ You refuse to kiss me this once — for the last 
time ? ” she wailed. 

“Yes,” I answered in a strained voice. “If you 
desire to know the reason of this refusal you will dis- 
cover it when you reflect upon your actions of last 
night,” 


200 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ What ! ” she gasped, pale to the lips. “ You saw 
him ! ” 

“ Yes,” I answered gravely, “ I saw him.” 

Then the train moved off, leaving her standing there 
pale and rigid; and without further glance at the 
blanched but beautiful face which only twelve hours 
ago I had believed to be the open countenance of the 
purest and sweetest woman on earth, I flung myself 
back into the corner, plunged in my own bitter re- 
flections. I had told her the ghastly truth, and we 
had parted. Edith Austin, whom I had hoped to 
make my wife, was lost to me forever. 

At midday I wearily ascended the great marble 
staircase at the Foreign Oflice, those stairs which 
every diplomatist in London climbs, and in the corri- 
dor met Boyd, one of the Marquess’s private secre- 
taries, who informed me that a meeting of the Cabinet 
was being held, and that his lordship had left instruc- 
tions that I was to wait until he returned, when he 
would give me a despatch to carry at once to Paris. 

So, accompanied by Boyd and m}^ friend Thorne, of 
the Treaty Department, I strolled along Parliament 
Street and lunched at the Ship, that old coffee-house 
frequented by Foreign Office and other officials. In 
the days before I received my appointment abroad I 
used to lunch there regularly, and as I entered I found 
many of my old colleagues at the tables. 

After an hour I returned to Downing Street, and 
went up to the Foreign Secretary’s private room. He 
was seated at his great table at the farther end of the 
sombre, green-painted apartment, the windows of 
which looked down upon the silent courtyard, where 
the cooing pigeons strut undisturbed. Upon his grey, 
reflned face was an intensely anxious look, and by th.Q 


201 


From Downing Street to Paris 

nervous manner in which he toyed with his quill as he 
acknowledged my salutation I knew that the subject 
discussed by the Cabinet had been a momentous one. 
The meeting had been specially and unexpectedly 
convened, and I had heard below that during its 
sitting several despatches had been exchanged over 
the private wire to Windsor, facts which in themselves 
were sufficient to show that some complication had 
arisen, and that the lines of British policy had been 
discussed and submitted to the Sovereign for approba- 
tion. 

“ You are returning to Paris this afternoon, Mr. 
Ingram ? ” said the Marquess. “ I am just writing a 
private despatch to Lord Barmouth, which must be 
placed in his hands at the earliest possible moment. 
The instructions contained in it are secret — you 
understand ? ” 

‘‘ I shall deliver it, I hope, before eleven o’clock this 
evening,” I said. 

“Good,” he answered approvingly; and while I 
walked to the window and looked out upon the court- 
yard, the great statesman continued tracing the cipher 
upon the large sheet of blue despatch-paper with his 
creaking quill. I glanced at a newspaper to while 
away the time, until presently one of the secretaries 
entered, prepared the taper and wax, and I watched 
the Marquess affix the five seals upon the envelope, 
impressing his own arms with the large old fob seal 
which he wore upon his watch-guard. He affixed the 
last seal, held the envelope for a few moments in 
order that the wax should set, then handed it to me, 
saying : 

“ Kemember, Ingram, none of our friends across the 
Channel must be allowed to get sight of this. It is 


202 Her Majesty’s Minister 

entirely confidential. Please ask Lord Barmouth to 
telephone me to-night an acknowledgment of its safe 
receipt.” 

“ Certainly,” I answered, placing it in my pocket. 
I then bowed, and wished the Minister good-day. 

“Good-day,” he said, smiling pleasantly, “and a 
pleasant journey to you, Ingram.” 

Then I withdrew, and drove in a cab to the Club. 
Arrived there, I placed the despatch in my belt next 
my skin, and, taking my bag, went down to Charing 
Cross and caught the tidal train. 

The journey was uneventful, the passage smooth, 
and about eleven o’clock that night I mounted the 
stairs of the Embassy in Paris, and went to his lord- 
ship’s private room. He was alone, enjoying a final 
cigar before turning in, and was surprised at my sud- 
den return. I quickly explained the reason, and taking 
off my belt in his presence handed him the despatch. 

Having assured himself that the seals were all in- 
tact, he broke them, and, taking it at once to the 
bureau, I got for him the key of the private cipher 
used only for the confidential despatches written by 
the hand of the Prime Minister to the representatives 
abroad. Then, standing underneath the tall lamp, the 
Ambassador slowly deciphered it. 

What he read caused him serious reflection, judging 
from the manner in which his countenance changed. 
Then, taking a match from his pocket, he crossed to 
the grate, lit the paper at the corner, and held it until 
it was all consumed. 

The nature of that confidential communication none 
knew save the Cabinet in London and the Ambassador 
himself. That it was extremely important was cer- 
tain, and I felt confident that some decision had been 


From Downing Street to Paris 203 

arrived at which would materially affect the European 
situation. 

After telephoning an acknowledgment of the de- 
spatch to Downing Street, we returned together to 
the smoke-room, where I drank a whisky and soda, 
and then, lighting a cigar, left the Embassy and drove 
to my own rooms, wearied out after the journey. 

At noon next day, when I went round to the Kue 
du Faubourg St. Honore, Harding, the footman, met 
me in the hall, saying : 

“His Excellency has just telephoned to you. He 
wishes to see you immediately.” 

I went straight, to his private room, and found him 
seated with Kaye, the lynx-eyed chief of the secret 
service. 

The Ambassador’s face was pale as death, and his 
voice trembled as he hoarsely acknowledged my salu- 
tation. 

“ Ingram,” he said in a low tone, motioning me to 
close the door, “ we have been betrayed ! ” 

“ Betrayed ? How ? ” I gasped. 

“ A copy of the despatch you brought me last night 
reached the Quai d’Orsay at two o’clock this morning. 
Our secret agent there has handed a copy of it to Mr. 
Kaye. The wording of the instructions, as sent to me 
by the Marquess, is exact. Here it is ; ” and he held 
towards me a sheet of that pale yellow paper used in 
the French Foreign Office, upon which a transcription 
of the despatch had been hurriedly traced in pencil. 

I glanced at it, then stood speechless. The secret 
despatch had never left my possession. The theft 
was utterly incredible, 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE SISTER ARTS 

“ But it is absolutely impossible that the despatch 
has been copied ! ” I cried, addressing His Excellency, 
when at last I found tongue. “ I saw it written my- 
self, and it never left my belt until I took it out here 
in your presence ! ” 

“Well,’’ interposed Kaye grimly, turning to Lord 
Barmouth, “that it has really been copied is quite 
plain, for you have the copy in your hand. It was 
telegraphed to the Quai d’Orsay from Calais at half- 
past one o’clock this morning, and that copy reached 
my hands at four, half an hour after I had returned 
from Berlin. Our secret agent in the French Foreign 
Office happily lost no time in making us acquainted 
with our loss.” 

“Fortunately for us,” remarked the Ambassador, 
pacing the floor from end to end. “ Had we remained 
in ignorance that the secret of our policy was out, we 
might have found ourselves in a very awkward predica- 
ment. But how could the despatch possibly have been 
copied, when no other eyes have seen it except those of 
the Marquess and myself ? The thing is incredible ! ” 

“ Ah ! that’s the question,” observed Kaye. “ The 
French system of espionage has very nearly ap- 
proached perfection. Even though it be against our 
grain, as Englishmen, to employ spies ourselves, yet 
it is daily becoming more necessary. Every nation in 
the world has its elaborate secret service ; therefore, 

m 


The Sister Arts 


205 

England must not sleep and allow other nations to 
undermine her prestige.” 

“ I cannot imagine how it is possible that our ene- 
mies could have obtained sight of the despatch, even 
for an instant,” I said. “ The only other person in the 
Chiefs room at Downing Street while he was writing 
was Boyd, who helped him seal it. I then took it, 
drove in a cab to the Club, and there placed it in my 
belt beneath my clothes. It never left my person 
until, in the smoking-room here, I took it out and 
handed it to His Excellency.” 

“ The telegram was despatched from the maritime 
station at Calais by some person who signed his name 
as ‘ Gaston.’ He is evidently known to our friends at 
the Quai d’Orsay.” 

There was a brief and painful pause. Such a catas- 
trophe staggered belief. Surely the spies of France 
did not use the Eontgen rays in order to read the 
letters carried on one’s person ! It would almost 
appear as though they did. 

“ Fate seems entirely against us, Ingram,” observed 
Lord Barmouth, breaking the silence at last. “In 
every effort we are thwarted by these scoundrelly 
spies. Our most secret instructions leak out in a way 
that is absolutely unaccountable. Indeed, the position 
has now become so critical that I dread to contemplate 
the result. In the matter of Ceuta we had an illus- 
tration of the marvellous astuteness of our enemies, 
while to-day here is an example much more alarming. 
And further, we must send home a despatch acknowl- 
edging ourselves checkmated. Our position is an 
ignominious one — most ignominious,” he added vehe- 
mently. 

“If I were at fault I would willingly bear any 


2o6 Her Majesty’s Minister 

blame attaching to my actions,” I said in a tone of 
protest ; “ but as far as I am aware I am utterly 
blameless in this matter.” 

‘‘ I do not seek to fix any culpability upon you, 
Ingram,” His Lordship hastened to assure me. “ While 
serving under me you have always done your duty 
with a thoroughness and tact worthy of the British 
diplomatist. All I can say is that it is excessively 
unfortunate for us all, and for the nation at large. 
Those instructions there, as you will see, are of the 
highest importance at this juncture ; but we are now 
quite unable to act because our secret intentions have 
become common property. They will probably be in 
the Figaro to-morrow.” 

“ The whole affair is at present a complete enigma,” 
observed Kaye, who, turning to me, added : “ If you 
cannot give us any clue whatever, I can’t see what 
can be done.” 

‘‘ I can give you absolutely no clue,” I answered, 
utterly bewildered by this amazing turn of events. 
“All I know is what I have just related.” 

The chief of the secret service turned his eyes full 
upon me, and asked slowly : 

“You have, for instance, held no further communi- 
cation with Mademoiselle de Foville?” 

Mention of that name caused me to start. All 
came back to me — how that the Ambassador had 
suspected her, and Kaye himself had declared that 
she was a spy. 

“ She left Paris before I went to London. I have 
no idea of her whereabouts.” 

“ You do not suspect that she was in London at the 
same time as yourself ? ” he asked. “ I mean, you saw 
nothing of her?” 


The Sister Arts 


207 


“ Absolutely nothing.” 

“And on the several occasions when you called 
upon her in the Rue de Courcelles you gave her no 
idea of the policy which His Excellency was pur- 
suing? I know you visited her several times, for, 
suspecting her, I had placed a watch upon her move- 
ments.” 

“I told her absolutely nothing,” I answered, an- 
noyed that this man should think fit to spy upon 
me. 

“ Strange,” he said thoughtfully. “ How that is 
really very strange, because her subsequent actions 
would appear to give colour to the theory that she 
learnt from you some secret which she was strenu- 
ously endeavouring to obtain.” 

“I don’t quite follow you.” 

“Well, I have ascertained that the French Am- 
bassador in Berlin has been receiving full reports 
of the progress of our actions regarding Ceuta.” 

“ From her ? ” I asked quickly. 

“ Hot exactly from her, but through her.” 

“ Then that woman is actually a spy ! ” cried His 
Excellency. 

“Without the slightest doubt,” responded Kaye. 
“ My inquiries in Berlin and Brussels have substan- 
tiated our suspicions. She is one of the smartest 
secret agents in Europe.” 

“I know that she is a friend of Wolf’s, but what 
proof have you that she has any connection with the 
Ministry of Foreign Affairs ? ” 

“I have obtained proof — absolute proof,” he an- 
swered. 

“In what manner?” 

“ By inquiries I made in Berlin. She is well known 


2o8 Her Majesty’s Minister 

in the Wilhelmstrasse. She was compelled to fly 
from Germany because it leaked out that she was a 
French spy.” 

“Cannot you give me any further explanation?” 
I urged. “I am much interested, as she was once 
my intimate friend.” 

“Yes,” interposed the Ambassador, “ unfortunately 
so. It was once rumoured, Ingram, that you actually 
intended to marry her.” 

“ Or rather,” observed Kaye, “ she intended, for 
her own purposes, to marry Mr. Ingram, I think.” 

I pursed my lips, but made no response. My re- 
flections at that moment were bitter enough without 
these observations from my friends. 

“ But do you suspect that she has had a hand in our 
latest betrayal?” I inquired a few minutes later. 
“ You have just alleged that she is in the French 
service. If so, it hardly seems credible that she 
would give her information to the French Ambas- 
sador in Berlin.” 

“ On that point I am not yet absolutely certain,” 
Kaye responded. “I am, however, quite convinced 
that the exposure of our plans regarding Ceuta filtered 
to the French through their Embassy in Berlin.” 

“ Then, contrary to supposition, de Hindenburg, the 
German Ambassador here, may be assisting France 
against us ? ” I said in surprise. 

“It seems much like it. Our inquiries all tend 
towards that theory. The German Ambassador has 
of late had almost daily interviews with the Minister 
of Foreign Affairs. These are generally believed to be 
in connection with the Samoan difficulty or the Trans- 
vaal ; but without doubt the chief subject of discussion 
has been the formation of a plan whereby to check- 


The Sister Arts 


209 

mate our policy towards Spain in the matter of 
Ceuta.” 

“Well, up to the present they have done so,” the 
Ambassador admitted, turning sharply upon his heel 
from the window, out of which he had been gazing 
moodily. “We appear to be arriving at a most critical 
stage, for what with the constant Anglophobe feeling 
here, the vile attacks of the Paris Press, the disgusting 
caricatures of Her Majesty and her subjects, and the 
army of spies surrounding us on every side, honest, 
straightforward diplomacy — the diplomacy which 
should preserve the peace of Europe — is well-nigh 
impossible. In all my career in the service I never 
knew a blacker outlook than at this moment — never, 
never ! ” 

“ The complications that have arisen are due entirely 
to spies,” I remarked. 

“ They are due, it appears, mainly to your friend, 
Yolande de Foville,” he said in a harsh voice. “We 
have to thank that interesting young lady for render- 
ing all our diplomacy in that direction abortive.” 

“ You had suspicion of her the other day?” I ex- 
claimed. “ What caused you to suspect her ? ” 

“ Drummond knew her in Brussels, and mentioned 
her.” 

“ As a secret agent ? ” 

“ Yes, as a secret agent. He warned me to be wary 
of her.” 

“Well,” I said, “I, who knew her most intimately 
years ago, never suspected it for one single instant.” 

“ Ah, Ingram,” the Ambassador answered, a smile 
crossing his serious, hard-set face, “ you were in love 
with her. A man in love never believes that his idol 
is of mere clay.” 


210 Her Majesty’s Minister 

A sigh escaped me. His words were indeed true. 
A thought of Edith flashed across my mind. The face 
of that woman who was false to me rose before my 
vision, but I swept it aside. All was over between us. 
Diplomacy and flirtation are sister arts, but diplomacy 
and love never run hand-in-hand. ' I had quaffed the 
cup of life, with all its infinite joys and agonies, in one 
intoxicating draught. 

Kaye rose at last and departed, promising to leave 
no stone unturned in his efforts to discover how the 
contents of the secret despatch had been obtained by 
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs ; and then, at the Am- 
bassador’s dictation, I wrote a despatch to London ex- 
plaining to the Marquess the reason why his instruc- 
tions could not be acted upon. Thus were we com- 
pelled to acknowledge our defeat. 

Below, in the hall, I met Sibyl dressed smartly, 
ready to go out. 

“ What ! ” she exclaimed, laughing, “ you are back 
again ! Why, I thought you would be at least a week 
in London. Did you bring that lace for me ? ” 

“Yes,” I answered, “I have it round at my rooms. 
I’ll send it you this afternoon.” 

“ Why are you back so soon ? ” she inquired, holding 
out her hand, so that I might button her glove. “ Was 
London too hot ? ” 

“ The heat was insufferable. Besides, we have much 
to attend to just now.” 

“ Poor father ! ” she exclaimed, looking up at me. 
“ He seems terribly worried. Tell me, Mr. Ingram, 
what has happened ? I feel sure that some catastrophe 
has taken place.” 

“ Oh, nothing,” I reassured her. “ Your father is a 
little anxious regarding some negotiations, that is all.” 


The Sister Arts 2 1 1 

“But you will go to the Elysee to-night, won’t 
you ? ” 

“ To-night ! What is it to-night ? ” 

“ Why, the grand ball,” she answered. 

“Which means a new frock for you — eh?” I 
laughed. 

“ Of course,” she replied. “ You will come, won’t 
you ? ” 

“ I fear I’m ever so much too tired for dancing,” I 
responded, feeling in no humour for the crowded gaiety 
of the President’s ball. 

“ But you must,” she declared — “ to please me. I 
want you to dance with me.” 

“ Well,” I said with reluctance, “ I suppose I dare not 
be so ungallant as to refuse you.” 

“ That’s good,” she laughed. “ How, as a reward. 
I’ll drive you down to the boulevard. The victoria 
is outside. Where will you go ? ” 

I reflected a moment, then told her I was on my 
way to my chambers. 

“Yery well,” she replied, “ I’ll drop you there. I 
have to go down to the Kue de la Paix.” 

“ To the couturi^re, of course ? ” 

“ Yes,” she said, with that merry twinkle in her dark 
eyes, “ you’ve guessed it the first time. It’s a charm- 
ing gown; but I know father will pull a wry face 
when he finds the bill on his table.” 

“ But you can stand any amount of wry faces as 
long as you get pretty dresses, can’t you ? ” I laughed, 
handing her into the carriage and taking a seat beside 
her. 

Then she opened her sunshade and lolled back with 
an air of indolence and luxury as we drove along 
together. 


CHAPTEK XXII 


PEEFUME AND POLITICS 

Upon my table a letter was lying. The handwrit- 
ing I recognised instantly as Edith’s, and not without 
a feeling of anger and impatience I tore it open in 
expectation. Long and rambling, it upbraided me for 
leaving her without a single reassuring word, and 
declared that my refusal to kiss her at parting had 
filled her heart with a bitter and uncontrollable grief. 
As I read, memories of those midnight hours, of my 
walk to that distant village, and of my meeting with 
that shabby lover crowded upon me, and the impas- 
sioned words she had written made no impression 
upon me. I had steeled my heart against her. She 
had played me false, and I could never forgive. 

“ I know 1 Jime heen foolish^ Oerald^'^ she wrote, 
“ hut you misjudge me because of an indiscretion. You 
believe that the man with whom you saw me last night 
was my lover ; yet you left me without allowing me to 
make any explanation. Is this right f Is it just ? 
You know how well I love you^ o/nd that without you 
my life is but a hopeless blank. Can you., knowing 
that I love you thus., believe me capable of such duplic- 
ity as you suspect ? I feel that you cannot. I feel 
that when you come to consider calmly all the circum- 
stances you will find in your own honest heart one 
212 


Perfume and Politics 213 

grain of pity and sympathy for the one woman who 
loves you so dearly. Write to me, for I cannot live 
without a word from you, because I love no other man 
hut youP 

I crushed the letter in my hand, then slowly tore it 
into fragments. I had no confidence in her protesta- 
tions — none. My dream of love was over. 

We often hear it remarked that those who are them- 
selves perfectly true and artless are in this world the 
more easily and frequently deceived. I have always 
held this to be a commonplace fallacy, for we shall 
ever find that truth is as undeceived as it is undeceiv- 
ing, and that those who are true to themselves and 
others may now and then be mistaken, or, in par- 
ticular instances, duped by the intervention of some 
other affection or quality of the mind ; but that they 
are generally free from illusion, and are seldom im- 
posed upon in the long run by the show of things and 
by the superficies of any character. 

There was a curious contradiction in Edith’s char- 
acter, arising from the contrast between her natural 
disposition and the situation in which she was placed, 
which corroborated my doubts. Her simplicity of 
language, her admission of an “ indiscretion,” the in- 
dexible resolution with which she asserted her right, 
her soft resignation to unkindness and wrong, and her 
warmth of temper breaking through the meekness of 
a spirit subdued by a deep sense of religion, — all these 
qualities, opposed yet harmonising, helped to increase 
my distrust of her. To me that letter seemed full of 
a dexterous sophistry exerted in order to ward off my 
accusations. Her remorse was without repentance; 
it arose from the pang of a wounded conscience, the 


214 Majesty’s Minister 

recoil of the violated feelings of nature, the torture of 
self-condemnation. 

The fragments of the letter I tossed into the waste- 
paper basket, and, putting on my hat, went down to 
the Grand Cafe to idle away an hour among friends 
accustomed to make the place a rendezvous in the 
afternoon. 

On entering, I found Deane sitting at a table alone, 
his carriage awaiting him at the door. He was hav- 
ing a hasty drink during his round of visits, and 
hailed me lustily. 

“ Sit down a moment, Ingram,” he cried. “ I want 
to see you.” 

‘‘ What about ? ” I inquired, lighting the cigarette 
he handed me. 

“ About that curious incident in the Rue de Cour- 
celles — Mademoiselle de Foville’s strange attack.” 

“ Well, what of it ? ” I asked eagerly. 

“Strangely enough a man, who proved to be an 
Englishman giving himself the name of Payne, was 
brought to the Hotel Dieu three nights ago in what 
appeared to be a cataleptic state. He had, it seemed, 
been found by the police lying on the pavement in 
the Boulevard St. Germain, and was at first believed 
to be dead. Some letters in English being found 
upon him, I was called, and upon examination dis- 
covered exactly the same symptoms as those which 
mademoiselle your friend had displayed. I was en- 
abled, therefore, to administer an antidote, and within 
twelve hours the man had sufficiently recovered to 
take his discharge. The case has excited the greatest 
possible interest at the hospital, for I had previously 
submitted a portion of the solution obtained from the 
envelope which mademoiselle had used to Professor 


Perfume and Politics 


215 


Ferrari, of Florence, the greatest authority on toxi- 
cology in the world, and he had declared it to be an 
entirely unknown, but most potent, poison.” 

“ Who was the Englishman ? Did he tell you 
nothing ? ” 

“ No. Unfortunately the hospital authorities al- 
lowed him to leave before I deemed it wise to ques- 
tion him. I read the letters found upon him, how- 
ever ; but they conveyed nothing, except that he had 
been recently living somewhere in the neighbourhood 
of Hackney.” 

“ Then you have no idea of the manner in which 
the poison was administered ? ” I said, disappointed. 

“ His right hand was rather swollen, from which I 
concluded that he had accidentally touched some object 
impregnated with the fatal compound.” 

“You don’t know its composition yet?” 

“No. Ferrari is trying to discover it, but at 
present has failed. The fact of a second person 
suffering from it is in itself very mysterious. I in- 
tended to call upon you this evening and tell you all 
about it.” 

“ The affair is extraordinary,” I admitted. “ I won- 
der whether the same person who made the attempt 
upon Yolande’s life is responsible for the attempt 
upon the Englishman ? What can be the motive ? ” 

“Ah! that’s impossible to tell. All we know is 
that some unknown person in Paris has in his or her 
possession a deadly compound capable of producing 
catalepsy and subsequent death in a manner most 
swift and secret. In order to ascertain whether any 
other person is attacked in the same manner, I have 
sent letters to the Direction of all the hospitals in 
Paris explaining the case, and asking that if any simi- 


2i6 Her Majesty’s Minister 

lar cases are brought to them for treatment, I may be 
at once communicated with.” 

“An excellent precaution,” I said. “ By that means 
we shall be able to watch the progress of the mysteri- 
ous criminal.” 

“You have heard nothing from Mademoiselle 
Yolande? ” 

“ Nothing,” I said. 

“ Hers was a curious case,” he remarked. “ But the 
man Payne’s was equally strange. It appears that he 
made no statement to either police or hospital authori- 
ties before he left. He only said that he was walking 
along the boulevard and suddenly fell to the ground 
insensible.” 

“You think he had some motive in preserving 
silence ? ” I inquired quickly. 

“ Yes, I felt sure of it. I only wish I could redis- 
cover him. They were foolish to allow him to take 
his discharge before giving me an opportunity of con- 
cluding my investigations. It was simply owing to 
professional jealousy. English medical men are not 
liked in Paris hospitals. But I must be off,” he said, 
rising. “ Good-bye.” 

Then he went out, and, entering his carriage, drove 
away. 

Yolkouski, the Kussian attache, was sitting close by, 
and I crossed to him, greeting him merrily. He was 
a good fellow — a thorough cosmopolitan, who had 
been trained in the smartest school of diplomacy — 
namely, the Embassy in London, which is presided 
over by that prince among diplomatists. Monsieur de 
Staal. Whatever may be said regarding the relations 
between Kussia and England as nations, it cannot be 
denied that in the European capitals the staffs of the 


Perfume and Politics 217 

embassies of both Powers are always on terms of real 
friendship. I make no excuse for repeating this. The 
mutual courtesy of the representatives of the two 
nations is not, as in the case of those of France, Ger- 
many, and Austria, mere diplomatic manoeuvring, but 
in most instances a sound understanding and a deep 
personal regard. England, Kussia, and Italy have in- 
terests in common, hence their representatives frater- 
nise, even though certain journals may create all sorts 
of absurd scares regarding what they are pleased to 
term the “aggressive policy of Kussia.” This is a 
stock journalistic expression, as meaningless as it is 
absurd. We who are “ in the know ” at the embassies 
smile when we read those alarmist articles, purporting 
to give all sorts of wild plans, which exist only in the 
imagination of the leader-writer. There is, indeed, 
one London journal known in the Kussian Embassies 
on the Continent as The Daily Abuser^ because of its 
intensely Russophobe tone. Fortunately nobody takes 
it seriously. 

I chatted with Yolkouski, sipping a mazagran the 
while. He was, I found, full of projects for his leave. 
His chief had already left Paris, and he himself was 
going home to Moscow for a month. Every diplo- 
matist on service abroad gets homesick after a time, 
and looks forward to his leave with the same pleasur- 
able anticipation of the schoolboy going for his sum- 
mer holidays. To escape from the shadow of a throne 
or the ceaseless chatter of an over-democratic Republic 
is always a happy moment for the wearied attache or 
worried secretary of embassy. One longs for a res- 
pite from the glare and glitter of the official world 
of uniforms and Court etiquette, and looks forward to 
rambles in the country in flannels and without a 


2i8 Her Majesty’s Minister 

collar, to lazy afternoons upon the river, or after- 
luncheon naps in a hammock beneath a tree. To the 
tired diplomatist, sick of formalities, and with the 
stifling dust of the ballroom over his heart, the expres- 
sion “ en campagne ” conveys so very much. 

Shortly before midnight I stepped from a fiacre and 
ascended the broad steps of the Elysee. Tired as I 
was of the ceaseless whirl of the City of Pleasure, it 
nevertheless amused me to fix the physiognomy of the 
great official fetes. They are inevitably banales, of 
course ; but there is always a piquancy of detail and 
of contrast that is interesting. 

If one wishes to see what a mixed crowd is like, 
there is no better illustration than the flocks of guests 
at the Elysee balls. Ah ! what a crowd it was that 
night ! What dresses ! What a public ! 1 know, of 
course, that it can never be otherwise under the pres- 
ent democratic regime. One man, who came on foot 
and whose boots were muddy, forgot to turn down 
the tucked-up ends of his trousers. People were walk- 
ing about with their hands in their pockets, jostling 
each other without a word of excuse. Many were 
touching the furniture, and feeling the curtains and 
tapestry with that sans-g^ne which so disgusted Gam- 
betta with his former friends. You could see that 
they were determined not to appear astonished at any- 
thing, and that, after all, they were at home in the 
Elysee. They were of the detestable breed of cafe 
politicians, of loud-voiced orators at party meetings, 
of successful carpet-baggers, who render the ideas of 
equality and fraternity at times insufferable. 

Before the buffet these fellows displayed themselves 
as goujats — cads — plain and simple. They grabbed 
for sandwiches, for biscuits, for glasses of champagne 


Perfume and Politics 219 

across the shoulders of ladies in front of them, or even 
elbowed them aside to get to the front row — and stop 
there. In the smoking-room the boxes of cigars were 
gone in the twinkling of an eye. One man struck his 
match on the wall. With these odd guests about it is 
not surprising that the Budget writes off a certain 
sum every year for articles that have disappeared 
from the buffets. 

Whew ! the heat there was insufferable ! 

In my search for Sibyl I passed through the ante- 
chamber. The footmen wore new livery. I saw none 
of those restaurant waiters who used, in the time of ce 
pauvre M. Faure, to be employed at twenty francs the 
evening, supper included. Yes, things had slightly 
improved, but the crush was terrific. I made my way 
to the Salon des Aides-de-Camp, that historic chamber 
where, in the armchairs still furnishing the room, on 
the night of the coup d’etat, sat, a prey to mortal 
anxiety, Morny, Persigny, Saint Arnaud, Pietri, 
Kouher, King Jerome, and the Prince President. 

The Japanese military attache, walking before me, 
mixed himself up somehow with his sabre, and fell. 
This contretemps was greeted, as at a theatre, with 
laughter. Some one cried, “ Oh, la la ! ” as if the 
stumble were a very clever bit of clowning indeed. 
The unhappy Japanese looked as if he wished the floor 
would swallow him. 

I struggled up and paid my respects to the Presi- 
dent, who was standing in the centre of the salon. 
Smiling, affable, displaying a simplicity that was real 
and unaffected, and yet devoid of mere familiarity, his 
bow and hand-shake were perfect. He struck the right 
note. I was impressed, moreover, by his sense of pro- 
portion. A little more cordiality, and he would cease 


220 Her Majesty’s Minister 

to be Chief of the State. A little more solemnity, and 
he would be stilted. It is a little hard to convey the 
distinction ; but imagine, on the one hand, a host who 
wants to make you forget his official position, and on 
the other a President of the Republic who is deter- 
mined to be a good host. For well-bred people there 
is always a well-defined shade of difference between 
these two ; and the President was the latter. 

While turning away I suddenly came face to face 
with M. Mollard, the chef-adjoint of the Protocol, 
who greeted me affably and commenced to tell me the 
latest story of General de Galliffet, Minister of War. 

“ It is amusing,” he laughed. “ You must hear it, 
M’sieur Ingram. The General arrived at his club, the 
IJnion, last night, and for some reason or another his 
former friends were more than usually cold in their 
treatment of him. After saying a bon jour to one and 
the other of them, and receiving a curt reply here and 
a snub there, the Minister of War realised this. But 
he took their coolness coolly. With his back to the 
fireplace he said quietly, by way of bringing home to 
his friends the absurdity of their attitude : ‘You may 
come near me. Je ne sens pas mauvais — I don’t smell 
bad. You see, there was no Cabinet to-day ! ’ Is it 
not excellent ? ” 

I smiled. It was a purely French joke. Mollard 
was always full of droll stories. Every diplomatist in 
Paris knew him as the keeper of the Elys^e traditions, 
as guardian of its unwritten law by inheritance, his 
father having been, under other presidencies, the 
official known as introducteur des ambassadeurs. 
When a question of precedence puzzled the plebeian 
bigwigs at the Quai d’Orsay — the Foreign Office — it 
was M. Mollard who would run to the archives to look 


Perfume and Politics 


221 


it up. Nature had not, however, endowed him with a 
demeanour befitting his office, for he wore his uniform 
as awkwardly as a middle-aged volunteer officer, and 
looked more like a clerk than a chamberlain. But 
when he spoke he dragged on the mute syllables as 
French actors are taught to do in delivering Kacine. 
He put three “ Fs ” in “ Excellence ” and four “ r’s ” 
in “Protocol.” For the rest, he was a good fellow, 
much liked in the diplomatic circle, although many 
jokes had from time to time been played at his ex- 
pense. Presently, after we had been talking for a few 
moments, I inquired whether he had seen Sibyl. 

“ Ah, no ! I regret, m’sieur,” he answered. “ But 
a lady who is sitting over in the Salon Diplomatique 
has just inquired of me whether you are present.” 

“ A lady ? What is her name ? ” 

“ I know her by sight, but cannot recall her name,” 
he responded. “ She is a grande dame, however.” 

“ Young or old ?” 

“Young. You will find her in the salon talking 
with Count Tornelli, the Italian Ambassador. You 
will easily recognise her. She is wearing a costume 
of black, trimmed with silver. She told me that she 
desired to speak with you particularly, and that I was 
to tell you of her presence.” 

“ But you don’t know her ? ” I laughed. 

“ Go and see,” he answered. “ You probably know 
her ; ” and, smiling, he turned away. 

My curiosity being aroused, I struggled through the 
throng until I reached the spot indicated. Only the 
diplomatic corps and distinguished guests were al- 
lowed there, and the other guests, huddled together 
before the open door, were pointing out well-known 
personages. 


222 Her Majesty’s Minister 

I looked in, and in a moment saw before me the 
striking figure in black and silver. No second glance 
was needed to recognise who she was. For a mo- 
ment I stood in hesitation; then, with a sudden re- 
solve, entered, and, walking straight up, bowed low 
before her. 


4 


CHAPTER XXIII 


PRINCESS LEONIE 

“ Princess,” I said, “ permit me to offer my felici- 
tations on your return to Paris. This is indeed an 
unexpected pleasure.” 

“ Ah, M’sieur Ingram ! ” she cried in charming Eng- 
lish, holding forth her white-gloved hand, “ at last ! I 
have been hunting for you all the evening. All Paris 
is here, and the crush is terrible. Yes, you see I am 
back again.” 

The Italian Ambassador had risen, bowed, and 
turned to speak to another acquaintance; therefore, 
with her sanction, I dropped into his place. 

“ And are you pleased to return ? ” I inquired, 
glancing at her beautiful and refined face, which 
seemed to me just a trifle more careworn than when 
I had last met her eighteen months ago. 

“ Ah ! ” she answered, “ I am always pleased to 
come back to France. I went to America for a few 
months, you know ; thence to Vienna, and for nearly 
a year have been living at home.” 

“ At Rudolstadt ? ” 

She nodded. 

“ Well,” I said, “ it was really too bad of you to hide 
your existence from your friends in that manner. 
Every one has been wondering for months what had 
become of you. Surely you found Rudolstadt very 
dull after life here ? ” 


223 


224 Her Majesty’s Minister ^ 

“ I did,” she sighed, causing the magnificent 
diamonds at her throat to sparkle with a thousand 
fires. “But I have departed from my hermitage 
again, you see. Now, sit here and tell me all that has 
happened during my absence. Then if you are good, 
I will, as a reward, give you just one waltz.” 

“ Yery well,” I laughed. “Kemember that I shall 
hold you to your bargain ; ” and then I commenced to 
gossip about the movements of people she had known 
when, two years before, she had been the most ad- 
mired woman in Paris. 

The Princess Leonie-Kose-Eugenie von Leutenberg 
was, according to the Almanack de Gotha — that red, 
squat little volume so dreaded by the ladies — only 
thirty years of age, and was certainly extremely good- 
looking. Her pale, half-tragic beauty was sufficient 
to arrest attention anywhere. Her noble features 
were well-moulded and regular, her eyes of a clear 
grey, and her hair of flaxen fairness, while her bear- 
ing was ever that of a daughter of the greatest of the 
Austrian houses. Her goodness of heart, her grace- 
fulness, her conversational esprit, and her genuine 
Parisian chic had rendered her popular everywhere ; 
while, as with the Duchesse de Berri, one strong point 
of her beauty was her charming little foot, which two 
years ago had been declared to be the loveliest foot in 
France, or, in Paris, simply “ Le pied de la Princesse.” 
Her shoes and hosiery were perfect marvels of fine- 
ness and neatness, and when she walked, or rather 
glided, along the Avenue des Acacias, the other prom- 
enaders formed long rows on each side to behold and 
admire le pied de la Princesse. 

I had heard it declared, too, with mysterious smiles, 
how le pied de la Princesse had been seen more than 


Princess L^onie 


225 

once at the masked balls at the Opera, and many an 
amusing little story had gone the round, and many a 
piquant tale had been told of how the Princess had 
been recognised here and there by the extreme small- 
ness of her foot. One was that for a wager she had 
disguised herself as a work-girl with a bandbox on her 
arm, and, attended by her valet, likewise disguised, 
appeared before the Hotel de Yille awaiting an omni- 
bus. The vehicle stopped, and the conductor ex- 
claimed in an indifferent tone, “ Entrez, mademoiselle,” 
without taking any further notice. Then, however, 
his wandering eye caught sight of a pair of tiny feet, 
and, looking into her face in surprise, he enthusiastic- 
ally exclaimed : “ Ah ! ah ! le pied de la Princesse ! ” 
and doffed his hat respectfully. The Princess lost her 
wager, but was in no little measure proud of the con- 
quest which her foot had won over the plain omnibus- 
conductor. 

Her life had been a somewhat tragic one. The only 
daughter of Prince Kinsky von Wchinitz und Tettau, 
the Seigneur of Wchinitz, in Bohemia, Leonie had, 
when scarcely out of her teens, been forced to marry 
the old Prince Othon von Leutenberg, a man forty 
years her senior. The marriage proved an exceedingly 
unhappy one, for he treated her brutally, and after 
five years of a wretched existence, during which she 
bore herself with great patience and forbearance, the 
Prince died of alcoholism in Berlin, and her release 
brought her into possession of an enormous fortune, 
together with the mansion of the Leutenbergs in the 
Frieune: at Vienna, one of the finest in the Austrian 
capital, the castle and extensive estates in Schwaz- 
bourg-Kudolstadt, that had belonged to the family 
from feudal days, as well as the hdtel in the Ave- 


226 Her Majesty’s Minister 

nue du Bois de Boulogne, and the beautiful Chateau 
de Chantoiseau, deep in the forest of Fontainebleau. 

She was very charming, and there was an air of 
sadness in her beauty that made her the more inter- 
esting. We were friends of long standing. Indeed, 
I had known her in the days when I was junior at- 
tache and fancied myself in love with every woman. 
I had admired her, and a firm friendship existed be- 
tween us, although I think I can say honestly that I 
had never fallen in love with her. More than once, 
when those false and scandalous tales had been whis- 
pered about her — as they are whispered about every 
pretty woman in Paris — I had constituted myself her 
champion, and challenged her traducers to prove their 
words. 

As we sat there chatting, watching the gaily uni- 
formed corps diplomatique, and bowing ever and 
anon as some man or woman came up to congratulate 
her on her return to Paris, she told me of the dreari- 
ness of her life in the gloomy, ancestral Castle of 
Kudolstadt, and how, finding it unendurable at last, 
she had suddenty resolved to spend the remainder of 
the summer at Chantoiseau. 

“ I have been there already a fortnight, and every- 
thing is in order,” she said. “ I am inviting quite a 
number of people. You must come also.” 

“ But I scarcely think it is possible for me to be ab- 
sent from Paris just now,” I answered in hesitation. 

“ I will take no refusal,” she said decisively. “ I 
will talk to Lord Barmouth to-night before I leave. 
He never refuses me anything. Besides, in two hours 
you can always be at the Embassy. You will remem- 
ber, the last time you were my guest, how easy you 
found the journey to and from Paris. Why, you 


Princess Leonie 


227 

often used to leave in the morning and return at 
night. hTo, you cannot refuse.” 

“ I must consult His Excellency before accepting,” 
I replied. “ In the meantime, Princess, I thank you 
for your kind invitation.” 

“ Princess ? ” she exclaimed, raising her eyebrows. 
‘‘ Why not Leonie ? I was Leonie to you always in 
the days gone by. Is there any reason why you 
should be so distant now? Unless — ” and she 
paused. 

“ Unless what ? ” I inquired, looking at her swiftly. 

“Unless you have a really serious affair of the 
heart,” she said. 

“ I have none,” I answered promptly, suppressing a 
sigh with difficulty. 

“ Then do not use my title. I hate my friends to 
call toe Princess. Kecollect that to you I am always 
Leonie.” 

“Very well,” I laughed, for she was full of quaint 
caprice. 

I had pleasant recollections of my last visit to the 
chateau, and hoped that if the theft of the instructions 
contained in the despatch I had brought from London 
produced no serious international complication, I 
should obtain leave to join her house-party, which 
was certain to bo a smart and merry one. 

She told me the names of some she had invited. 
Among those known to me were the Baroness de 
Chalencon, Count de Hindenburg, the German Am- 
bassador, and his wife, and Count de Wolkenstein, 
Austrian Ambassador, as well as several other men 
and women of the smartest set in Paris. 

“ You will be a real benefactress,” I laughed. 
“ Every one here is stifled ; while Dieppe is too 


228 Her Majesty’s Minister 

crowded ; Aix, with its eternal Yilla des Fleurs, is 
insupportable ; and both Eoyat and Yichy are full to 
overflowing.” 

‘‘ Ah, mon cher Gerald ! ” cried the Princess, lifting 
her small hands, ‘‘ it is your English tourists who have 
spoilt all our summer resorts. If one has no place of 
one’s own in which to spend the summer nowadays, 
one must herd with the holders of tourist tickets and 
hotel coupons.” 

I admitted that what she said was in a great 
measure true. Society, as the grande dame knows 
it, is being expelled by the tourists from the places 
which until a year or two ago were expensive and ex- 
clusive. Even the Kiviera is fast becoming a cheap 
winter resort, for Nice now deserves to be called the 
Margate of the Continent. 

Having arranged that I should do my best to ac- 
cept her invitation, our conversation drifted to poli- 
tics, art, and the drama. She seemed in utter igno- 
rance of recent events, except such as she had read 
about in the newspapers. 

‘‘I know nothing,” she laughed. “News reaches 
Kudolstadt tardily, and then only by the journals; 
and you know how unreliable they are. How I’ve 
longed time after time to spend an evening in Paris to 
hear all the gossip ! It is charming, I assure you, to 
be back here again.” 

“ But for what reason did you shut yourself up for 
so long ? ” I asked. “ It surely is not like you ! ” 

She grew grave in an instant, and appeared to hesi- 
tate. Her lips closed tightly, and there was a hard 
expression at the corners of her well-shaped mouth. 

“ I had my reasons — strong ones.” 

“ What were they ? ” 


Princess L^onie 


229 


“Well, I was tired of it all.” 

“Leonie,” I said, looking at her seriously, “pray 
forgive me, but you do not intend to tell me the truth. 
You were tired of it years ago, when the Prince was 
alive.” 

“ That was so,” she answered, with a glance of tri- 
umph; “and I went home to my father and shut 
myself up at Wchinitz.” 

“ But you must have had some stronger motive in 
burying yourself again as you have recently done. 
You did not write to a soul, and no one knew where 
you Avere. You simply dropped out; and you had 
some reason for doing so, otherwise you would have 
told the truth to your most intimate friends.” 

“You are annoyed that I should have left you 
without a word — eh?” she asked. “Well, I will 
apologise now.” 

“E’o apology is necessary,” I answered. “It is 
only because we are such good friends that I venture 
to speak thus. I feel confident that you have sus- 
tained some great sorrow. You are, somehow, not 
the same as you were in Paris two years ago ; noAv, 
tell me ” 

“ Ah ! Do not talk of it ! ” she cried huskily, rising 
to her feet. “ Let us drop the subject. Promise me, 
Gerald, not to mention it again, for I confess to you 
that it is too painful — much too painful. I promised 
you a waltz. Come, let us dance.” 

Thus bidden, I rose, and she, tAvisting her skirts 
deftly in her hand leaned lightly upon my arm as I 
conducted her to the great ballroom. A very few 
moments later we glided together into the whirling, 
dazzling croAvd. 

“You will not speak of that again, Gerald?” she 


230 Her Majesty’s Minister 

urged in a hoarse whisper, looking earnestly up to my 
face, as her head came near my shoulder. “ Promise 
me.” 

“If it is your wish, Leonie,” I responded, puzzled, 
“ I will ask no further question.” 


CHAPTER XXIY 


IN THE FOREST OF FONTAINEBLEAU 

Sixty kilometres from Paris, just off that straight 
and noble highway that runs through the heart of 
the magnificent forest and passes through the old- 
world town of Fontainebleau — where Napoleon 
signed his abdication — through the mediaeval, crum- 
bling gates of Moret, and away far south to Lyons, 
rises the fine old Chateau of Chantoiseau. Half-way 
between the clean little village of By, standing in 
the midst of its well-kept vineyards, and the 
river-hamlet of Thomery, it occupies a command- 
ing position on the summit of a cliff, where far below 
winds the Seine, on past Yalvins and Samois, until it 
becomes lost like a silver thread among the dark 
woodlands in the direction of Paris. 

The position of the splendid old place is superb. 
From its windows can be obtained a view of the 
great forest stretching away to the horizon on the 
left, while to the right is the valley of the Seine, and 
across the river spread the smiling vineyards with 
their white walls — the vinej^ards of Champagne. 
The house, a long, rambling place with circular tow- 
ers, has been historical for many centuries. Once the 
property of Madame La Pompadour, in the days 
when the splendours of the Palace of Fontainebleau 
were world-renowned, a latter-day interest also at- 
taches to it, inasmuch as it was the headquarters of 
the German Crown Prince during the advance of the 
231 


232 Her Majesty’s Minister 

Prussians upon Paris. Its grounds, sloping down, 
enclose part of the forest itself; therefore, during the 
blazing days of August one lives actually in the 
woods. The forest is an enormous one, and even 
to-day there still remain many parts unexplored, 
where the wolf and wild boar retreat in summer, and 
where even that most ubiquitous forester, the viper- 
hunter — the man whose profession it is to kill vipers 
and sell them at the local mairie — has never pene- 
trated. In the whole of the great forest, however, 
no spot is more charming or more picturesque than 
that in which the chateau is situated. It is not a 
show-place, like Barbison or the Gorges de Franchard, 
but entirely rural and secluded — on the one side the 
open valley, on the other the dark forest, where in 
the tunnel-like alleys the trees meet overhead, and 
where the shady high roads to the painter colony at 
Marlotte and to Bois-le-Koi are perfect paradises for 
the cyclist. 

Chantoiseau itself is not a village, not even a hamlet, 
only a big old-fashioned cottage in which the forest- 
guards live. Above it, on the high ground beyond, 
stands the fine old chateau. Many of those who read 
my story have driven or cycled in the forest, and 
many have no doubt given the great old place a 
passing glance before plunging deep into those leafy 
glades that lead to Fontainebleau. If when you have 
driven past you have inquired of your cocher, “ Who 
lives there?” he has probably only shrugged his 
shoulders and replied : “ Servants only. Madame la 
Princesse, alas! seldom comes,” and you have gone 
on your way, as many others have done, wondering 
why such a beautiful old place should be neglected by 
its owner. 


In the Forest of Fontainebleau 


233 

One hot evening at sundown, about three weeks 
after the President’s ball, I strolled slowly beside the 
Princess down the hill, entering the forest by that 
well-kept crossroad which leads by the Carrefour de 
la Croix de Montmorin straight to the pretty village 
of Montigny on the Loing. 

Contrary to expectation, no immediate result had 
accrued from the mysterious theft of the secret in- 
structions to Lord Barmouth ; hence I had obtained 
leave and accepted my hostess’s invitation, although I 
was compelled to spend two days each week at the 
Embassy, going up to Paris in the morning and re- 
turning by the six o’clock express from the Gare de 
Lyon. That some result of the exposure of our policy 
must certainly make itself felt we knew quite well, 
but at present the political atmosphere seemed clearer, 
and by the fact that several of the ambassadors had 
left Paris considerable confidence had been estab- 
lished. Yet in those sultry August days the war- 
cloud still hung over Europe and the representative of 
Her Majesty was compelled, as he ever is, to exercise 
the greatest tact and the utmost finesse in order to 
preserve peace with honour. Truly, the ofiice of 
British Ambassador in Paris is no sinecure, for upon 
him rests much of the responsibility of England’s posi- 
tion in Europe and her prestige among nations, while 
to him is entrusted the difficult duty of negotiating 
amicably with a nation openly and avowedly hostile 
to British interests and British prosperity. 

Those summer days, so sunny, happy, and pleasant, 
in the forest depths at Chantoiseau, were, neverthe- 
less, perplexing ones for the rulers of Europe. The 
stifling air was the oppression before the storm. I 
had more than once chatted in the billiard-room with 


234 Her Majesty’s Minister 

my fellow guests, the German and Austrian Ambas- 
sadors, and both had agreed that the outlook was 
serious, and that the storm-cloud was upon the polit- 
ical horizon. 

But life at the chateau was full of enjoyment. 
The Princess, a born hostess, knew exactly whom to 
invite, and her house-parties were always congenial 
gatherings. There was riding, cycling, tennis, boat- 
ing, billiards; indeed, something to suit all tastes, 
while she contented herself with looking on and see- 
ing that all her guests enjoyed themselves. 

A riding party had gone over to Montigny, and 
after tea the Princess had suggested that I should 
accompany her for a stroll down into the forest to 
meet them. She was dressed simply in a washing- 
dress of pale blue linen, and wore a sailor-hat, so 
that with her fair hair bound tightly she presented 
quite an English appearance, save perhaps for her 
figure and gait, both of which were eminently for- 
eign. The feet that all Paris had admired two years 
ago were encased in stout walking-boots, and she car- 
ried a light cane, walking with all the suppleness 
of youth. 

Soon we left the full glory of the mellow sunset 
flooding the Seine valley, and entered the forest road 
where the high trees met and interlaced above, and 
where the golden light, filtering through the screen 
of foliage, illuminated here and there the deeper 
shadows, struck straight upon the brilliant green of 
the bracken, married with the greyness on the lichen- 
covered trunks, and kissed the leaves with golden lips. 
Birds were twittering farewells to the day, and here 
and there a red-brown squirrel, startled by our pres- 
ence, darted from bough to bough with tail erect, 


In the Forest of Fontainebleau 


23s 


while on each side of the road was a carpet of moss 
and wild-flowers. The sweet odour of the woods 
greeted our nostrils, and we inhaled it in a deep 
draught, for that gloomy shade was delightfully cool 
and refreshing after the blazing heat of the stifling 
day. As I had been compelled to attend to some 
official correspondence, I had not joined the riding- 
party. The Princess had given some half-dozen of us 
tea in the hall, and, while the others had gone olf to 
play tennis, she and I had been left alone. 

Suddenly, as we walked along in the coolness, she 
turned to me, saying in a tone of reproach : 

“ Gerald, you have hidden from me the true seri- 
ousness of the situation at your Embassy. Why ? ” 

“Well,” I answered, facing her in surprise, “ we do 
not generally discuss our fears, you know. Others 
might profit by the knowledge.” 

“ But surely you might have confided in me ? ” she 
said gravely. 

“ Then de Wolkenstein has told you ? ” 

“ He has told me nothing,” she answered. “But I 
am, nevertheless, aware of all that has come to pass. 
I know, too, that since my absence at Kudolstadt you 
have fallen in love.” 

“ Well ? ” I inquired. 

She shrugged her well-formed shoulders as if to in- 
dicate that such a thing was beyond her comprehen- 
sion. 

“ Is it a disaster, do you think ? ” I asked. 

“ You yourself should know that,” she replied in a 
strained tone. “ It seems, however, that you do not 
exercise your usual discretion in your love-affairs.” 

“ What do you mean, Leonie ? ” I demanded quickly, 
halting and looking at her, Who, I wondered, had 


236 Her Majesty’s Minister 

told her the truth ? To which of my loves did she 
refer — the spy or the traitress ? 

“ I mean exactly what I have said,” she answered 
quite calmly. “ If you had confided in me I might 
perhaps have used my influence in preventing the in- 
evitable.” 

The inevitable ! ” I echoed. “ What is that ? ” 

“ A combination of the Powers against England,” 
she replied quickly. “As you know well enough, 
Gerald, I have facilities for learning much that is 
hidden from even your accredited representatives. 
Therefore, I tell you this, that at this moment there 
is a plan arranged to upset British diplomacy in all 
four capitals and to ruin British prestige. It is a bold 
plan, and I alone outside the conspirators am aware 
of it. If carried out, England must either declare war 
or lose her place as the first nation in the world. 
Kecollect these words of mine, for I am not joking at 
this moment. To-day is the blackest that Europe has 
ever known.” 

She had halted in the path, and spoke with an 
earnestness that held me bewildered. 

“ A conspiracy against us ! ” I gasped. “ What is 
it ? Tell me of it ? ” 

“ E’o,” she answered. “ At present I cannot. 
Sufiice it for you to know that I alone am aware of 
the truth, and that I alone, if I so desire, can thwart 
their plans and turn their own weapons against 
them.” 

“You can?” I cried. “You will do it! Tell me 
the truth — for my sake. I have been foolish, I know, 
Leonie ; but tell me. If it is really serious, no time 
must be lost.” 

“Serious?” she echoed. “It is so serious that I 


In the Forest of Fontainebleau 


237 

doubt whether the present month will pass before war 
is declared.” 

“ By England?” 

“Yes. Your country will be forced into a conflict 
which must prove disastrous. The plan is the most 
clever and most dastardly ever conceived by your 
enemies, and this time no diplomatic efforts will suc- 
ceed in staving off the tragedy, depend upon it.” 

“Are both Wolkenstein and de Hindenburg aware 
of the plot ? ” 

“I presume so. I have watched carefully, but 
have, however, discovered nothing to lead me to be- 
lieve that they understand how near Europe is to an 
armed conflict.” 

“Then your information is not from Wolken- 
stein ? ” 

“ hTo, from a higher source.” 

“ From your Emperor ? ” 

She nodded. 

“ Then this accounts for your sudden reappearance 
among us ? ” I said. 

“ You may put my presence down to that, if you 
wish,” she replied. “ But promise me, on your word 
of honour, that you will not breathe a single word to 
a soul — not even to Lord Barmouth.” 

“ If you impose silence upon me, Leonie, it shall be 
as you wish. But you have just said that you can 
assist me. How ? ” 

“ I can do so — if I choose,” she responded thought- 
fully, drawing the profile of a man’s face in the dust 
with the ferrule of her walking-stick. 

“ You speak strangely,” I said — “almost as though 
you do not intend to do me this service. Surely you 
will not withhold from me intelligence which might 


238 Her Majesty’s Minister 

enable me to rescue my country from the machination 
of its enemies ? ” 

“ And why, pray, should I betray my own country 
in order to save yours ? ” she asked in a cold tone. 

I was nonplussed. For a moment I could not re- 
ply. At last, however, I answered in a low, earnest 
tone : 

“ Because we are friends, Leonie.” 

“ Mere friendship does not warrant one turning 
traitor,” she replied. 

“ But Austria is not the prime mover of this con- 
spiracy,” I said. “ The rulers of another nation have 
formed the plot. Tell me which of the Powers is re- 
sponsible ? ” 

“ No,” she answered with a slight hauteur. “ As 
you have thought fit to preserve certain secrets from 
me, I shall keep this knowledge to myself.” 

“ What secrets have I withheld from you ? ” I in- 
quired, dismayed. 

“ Secrets concerning your private affairs.” 

I knew well that she referred to my passion for 
Yolande. For a moment I hesitated, until words rose 
to my lips and I answered : 

“ Surely my private affairs are of little interest to 
you ! Why should I trouble you with them ? ” 

“ Because we are friends, are we not V ” she said, 
looking straight into my face with those fine eyes 
which half Europe had admired when le pied de la 
Princesse had been the catchword of Paris. 

“ Most certainly, Leonie,” I agreed. “ And I hope 
that our friendship will last always.” 

“ It cannot if you refuse to confide in me and some- 
times to seek my advice.” 

“ But you, in your position, going hither and thither, 


In the Forest of Fontainebleau 239 

with hosts of friends around you, can feel no real in- 
terest in my doings ? ” I protested. 

“ Friends ! ” she echoed in a voice of sarcasm. “ Do 
you call these people friends ? My guests at this mo- 
ment are not friends. Because of my position — be- 
cause I am popular, and it is considered chic to stay 
at Chantoiseau — because I have money, and am able 
to amuse them, they come to me, the men to bow over 
my hand, and the women to call me their ‘ dear Prin- 
cess.’ Bah ! they are not friends. The diplomatic 
set come because it is a pleasant mode of passing a few 
weeks of summer, while still within hail of Paris ; and 
the others — well, they are merely the entourage which 
every fashionable woman unconsciously gathers about 
her.” 

“ Then among them all you have no friend ? ” 

Again she turned her fine eyes upon me, and in a 
low but distinct tone declared : 

“ Only yourself, Gerald.” 

“ I hope, Leonie, that I shall always prove myself 
worthy of your friendship,” I answered, impressed by 
her sudden seriousness. 

Her face had grown pale, and she had uttered those 
words with all possible earnestness. 

Then we walked on together in the silence of the 
darkening gloom of the forest. The ruddy light of 
the dying day struggled through the foliage, the birds 
had ceased their song, and the stillness of night had 
already fallen. We were each full of our own thoughts, 
and neither uttered a word. 

Suddenly she halted again, and, gripping my arm, 
looked up into my face. I started, for upon her pale 
countenance I saw a look of desperation such as I had 
never before seen there. 


240 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ Gerald ! ” she cried hoarsely, “ why do you treat 
me like this ? You cannot tell how I suffer, or you 
would have pity upon me ! Surely you cannot disguise 
from yourself the truth, even though your coldness 
forces me to tell you with my own lips. You know 
well my position — that of a woman drifting here and 
there, open to the calumnies of my enemies and the 
scandalous tales invented by so-called friends ; a woman 
who has borne great trials and who is still, alas ! un- 
happy ! Of my honesty you yourself shall judge. 
You have heard whispers regarding my doings — es- 
capades they have been called — and possibly you have 
given them credence. If you have, I cannot help it. 
There are persons around us always who delight in 
besmirching a woman’s reputation, especially if she has 
the misfortune to be born of princely family. But I 
tell you that all the tales you have heard are false. 

I ” Suddenly she covered her face with her 

hands ; the words seemed to choke her, and she burst 
into tears. 

“hfo, no, L^onie!” I said with deep sympathy, 
bending down to whisper in her ear and taking her 
hand in mine. “No one believes in those foul calum- 
nies. Your honour is too well known.” 

“ You do not believe them — you will never believe 
them, will you ? ” she asked quickly through her tears. 

“ Of course not. I have denied them many times 
when they have been repeated to me.” 

“ Ah ! ” she cried, “ I know you are always generous 
to a woman, Gerald.” 

Then again a long silence fell between us. 

Presently, with a sudden impulse, she raised her 
tear-stained face to mine, and with a look of fierce 
desperation in her eyes implored : 


In the Forest of Fontainebleau 24 1 

“ Gerald, will you not give me one single word ? 
Will you still remain cold and indifferent? ” As she 
said this, her breast rose and fell in agitation. 

I drew back, wondering at her beseeching attitude. 

“ 1 ^ 0 , no ! ” she cried. “ Do not put me from you, 
Gerald ! I cannot bear it — indeed I can’t ! You must 
have recognised the truth long ago — ” and she 
paused. Then, lowering her voice until it was only a 
hoarse whisper, she added, “ The truth that I love 
you ! ” 

I looked at her in blank amazement, scarce knowing 
what to reply. I had admired her just as half Paris 
had admired her, but I certainly had never felt a spark 
of deep affection for her. 

“ Ah ! ” she went on, reading my heart in an instant, 
“ you despise me for this confession. But I cannot 
help it. I love you, Gerald, as I have never before 
loved a man. In return for your love I can offer you 
nothing — nothing save one thing,” she added in a 
strange, mechanical voice, almost as though speaking 
to herself. “ In return for your love I can save your 
country from the grievous peril in which it is now 
placed.” 

She offered me her secret in return for my love ! 
The thing was incomprehensible. I stood there dumb- 
founded. 

“ This is a moment of foolishness, Leonie. We are 
both at fault,” I said, as soon as I again found tongue. 
“ Think of the difference in our stations — you a prin- 
cess, and I a poor diplomatist ! I am your friend, and 
hope to remain so always — but not your lover.” 

But I love you ! ” she cried fiercely, raising her 
blanched and pitiful face until her lips met mine. 
The passion of love was in her heart. “ You may de- 


2^2 Her Majesty’s Minister 

spise me, Gerald ; you may cast me from you ; you 
may hate me ; but in the end you will love me just as 
intensely as I love you. To endeavour to escape me 
is useless. Since the die is cast, let us make the com- 
pact now, as I have already suggested. I have con- 
fessed to you openly. I am yours, and I implore of 
you to give me your love in return. You are mine, 
Gerald — mine only I ” 


CHAPTER XXV 

ENGLAND’S ENEMIES 

Late that night, after the Princess and most of her 
guests had retired, I entered the billiard-room to get 
my cigarette-case, which I had left there while play- 
ing pool earlier in the evening, and on opening the 
door found the two Ambassadors Wolkenstein and 
Hindenburg seated together in the long lounge-chairs 
in earnest conversation. They were speaking in Ger- 
man, and as I entered I overheard the words “ in such 
a manner as to crush the English power on the sea.” 
They were uttered by the German representative, and 
were certainly ominous. It was apparent that both 
men were aware of the gigantic conspiracy of which 
the Princess had told me — the plot which aimed at 
the downfall of our nation. I could see, too, that my 
sudden entry had disconcerted them, for they both 
moved uneasily and glanced quickly at each other as 
though fearing I had overheard some part of what 
had passed between them. Then Wolkenstein with 
skillful tact cried in French : 

“ Ah, my dear Ingram ! we thought we alone were 
the late birds to-night. Come here and chat ; ” and 
at the same time he pulled forward one of the long 
cane chairs, into which, thus bidden, I sank. 

What, I wondered, had been the exchange of views 
between these two noted diplomatists ? The faces of 
both were sphinx-like. Our talk at first dealt with 
243 


244 Majesty’s Minister 

nothing more important than the journey across the 
forest to Barbison which our hostess had arranged for 
the morrow. I knew, however, that the conversation 
held before my entrance had been about the European 
situation. Those men were England’s enemies. My 
impulse was to rise abruptly and leave them ; but it is 
always the diplomatist’s duty to remain cool, and 
watch, even though he may be compelled to hobnob 
with the bitterest opponents of his native land. 
Therefore I remained, and, concealing my antipathy, 
lit a cigar and lay back in my chair, carelessly gossip- 
ing about the usual trivialities which form the subject 
of house-party chatter. 

“ The Princess looked rather pale to-night, I 
thought,” exclaimed Count de Hindenburg suddenly. 
“ She seemed quite worried.” 

“ With a chateau full of guests the life of a hostess 
is not always devoid of care,” I remarked, blowing a 
cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. 

I alone knew the reason of her paleness and anxiety, 
and was eager to ascertain what deductions these two 
shrewd men had made. 

“ To me,” observed the representative of the Em- 
peror Francis Joseph, “it seemed as though the 
Princess had been shedding tears. Didn’t you notice 
that her eyes were just a trifle swollen?” and, turn- 
ing to me, he added : “ She scarcely spoke to you at 

dinner. Are you the culprit, Ingram ? ” 

Both men laughed. 

“ Certainly not,” I denied. “ Madame has a touch 
of nerves, I suppose— that’s all. Such a malady is 
common among women.” 

“ She looked quite worn out by fatigue,” declared 
Wolkenstein. 


England’s Enemies 245 

“Because she is never still a single moment in the 
day. Her thoughts are always for her guests — how 
to amuse them and to give them a pleasant time. It 
was the same two years ago,” I said. 

“ Eemarkable woman — quite remarkable ! ” ex- 
claimed de Hindenburg. “ She had sufficient trouble 
with the rheumatic old Prince to turn any woman’s 
hair grey ; but, on the contrary, she seems now to be- 
come younger every day. She’s still one of the 
prettiest women in Europe.” 

“ Every one admits that, of course,” I said. 

They exchanged glances, and I fancied that these 
looks were unusually significant. A flood of recollec- 
tions of the sunset hour in the forest surged within 
my mind — how I had striven with firmness to release 
myself, and how I had been forced to turn away and 
leave the Princess. In that deep gloom, when the 
rosy afterglow was fading and the light within the 
leafy glade so dim that all objects were indistinct, I 
had seen her wild passion in all its magnificence. 
Her eyes had burned with the fierce, all-consuming 
fire of love, her cheeks were white and cold, and her 
words as reckless as they were passionate. She had 
charged me with entertaining affection for some other 
woman — a woman unworthy of my love, she had said 
with distinct meaning, as though she knew the duplic- 
ity of Yolande; and she had sworn an oath with 
clenched hands to compel me to reciprocate her pas- 
sion. 

The scene between us was one of unreason and of 
folly. She had been overwhelmed by the impulse of 
the moment, and I had bowed and left her, my heart 
full of conflicting emotions, my head reeling. She had 
suddenly twisted her soft arms about my neck and 


2^6 Her Majesty's Minister 

clung to me, whispering her love and declaring that I 
was cruel, cold, with a heart like adamant. But I had 
flung her off, and we had not met until two hours 
later, when I sat at her right hand at dinner, during 
which she had scarcely addressed a single word 
to me. 

My companions had, of course, noticed this, and 
appeared to have cleverly guessed my refusal to 
accept the offer of the Princess. They little knew 
the terms upon which she had attempted to make a 
compact with me — that she was ready to betray them 
in return for my love. 

I smoked on in silence and in wonder. The situation 
certainly presented a problem which I was utterly un- 
able to solve. That the affections of such a woman as 
the Princess von Leutenberg were not to be trifled 
with I knew well, for women of her temperament are 
capable of anything when once they love with a fierce, 
uncontrollable, reckless passion such as she had seen 
fit to display that evening in the deep silence of the 
forest. Her proposition had, indeed, been a startling 
one. She had offered me the secret of the plot in 
return for my love ! 

With my two companions I chatted on until nearly 
two o’clock ; then we separated, and I passed through 
the long oak corridors to my room. Upon the dress- 
ing-table I found a note lying. It was sealed with 
black wax, with the Leutenberg arms. I tore it open. 
It gave out an odour of fresh violets, and I saw in- 
stantly that the handwriting was Leonie’s. 

“ I Time been foolish in my confession to yoUy 
Gerald f she wrote in French. “ But my heart was so 
full that I could conceal the truth no longer. I saw 


England’s Enemies 247 

from your mamner at dinner to-night that you despise 
me^ and intend to hold me at a distance as an unwel- 
come woman who has flung herself into your arms, 
JBut I cannot help it. The misfortune — nay,^ the curse 
upon me — is that I lore you. Would to Hea/cen that 
I did not ! Because of you I ha/ce forgotten everything 
— my duty to myself as a woman, my duty to my family 
as one of a nolle house, my duty to my country, my 
duty to my Creator. When I left Paris long ago, I 
crossed the Atlantic, resolved to forget you; hut all was 
in vain. I returned to Pudolstadt and shut myself 
up in retirement, striving to wean myself from the mad 
passion which had arisen within me. All, however, 
was futile, amd at last I hrohe the bonds and returned 
to Pa/ris. A month has gone hy, and now I home told 
you the truth ; I have confessed. To-morrow morning 
at eleven I shall walk alone through the forest, along 
the road that leads to By. My offer to you — an offer 
made, I admit, in desperation — still stands. If you 
accept it you will he enabled to save your country from 
her enemies, omd we shall both flmd peace and happi- 
ness ; if not, then the plot loill be carried out, and at 
least one woman^s life will be wrecked — the solitary and 
unhappy woman who writes these lines, and whose 
name is Leonie” 

She had written that letter calmly and coolly, for 
the handwriting showed no haste. Evidently she 
had penned it in the seclusion of her chamber, and 
Suzanne, her maid, had placed it upon my dressing- 
table. 

I stood with the letter in my hand. My eyes caught 
my own reflection in the long silver-framed mirror, 
and I was struck by the haggard, anxious expression 


248 Her Majesty’s Minister 

upon my own countenance. My personal appearance 
startled me. 

Well I knew the character of this pale and beauti- 
ful woman whom all Paris had admired. The im- 
pression she gave every one was that of perpetual and 
irreconcilable contrast. I had long ago recognised her 
high mental accomplishments, her unequalled grace, 
her woman’s wit and woman’s wiles, her almost irre- 
sistible allurements, her moments of classic grandeur, 
her storms of temper, her vivacity of imagination, her 
petulant caprice, her tenderness and her truth, her 
childish susceptibility to flattery, her magnificent 
spirit, and her princely pride. She had dazzled my 
faculties, perplexed my judgment, bewildered and 
bewitched my fancy. I was conscious of a kind of 
fascination against which my moral sense rebelled. 

With all her perverseness, egotism, and caprice, she, 
nevertheless, I knew, mingled a capacity for warm 
affection and kindly feeling, or, rather, what one 
might call a constitutional good-nature, and was 
lavishly generous to her favourites and dependents. 
She was a Princess in every sense of the word, her 
right royal willfulness and impatience often fathering 
the strangest caprice. There were actually moments 
when she seemed desirous of picking a quarrel with 
such immensities as time and space, and, with the air 
of a lioness at bay, regarded those who dared to re- 
member what she chose to forget. 

She had given me but little time to decide. To- 
morrow at eleven she would slip away from her guests 
and await me in that long, tunnel-like passage leading 
through the forest to the ancient town of Moret, at 
the confluence of the willow-lined Loing with the 
broad Seine. Its walls and gates, dating from the 


England’s Enemies 249 

time of Charlemagne, still remain, and right in the 
heart of the little town stands the square old donjon 
keep, now ivy-grown and with its moat full of a pro- 
fusion of sweet-smelling tea-roses. 

I could save England if, in return for her secret, I 
gave her my love. Has any man ever found himself 
in similar perplexity ? 

Calmly I reasoned with myself, turning again to her 
letter, and feeling convinced that this sudden passion 
of hers was but a momentary caprice. Ho woman, if 
she were cool and reasonable, would have acted as 
she had done, for she must have recognised that the 
difference in our stations rendered marriage impossible. 

My duty to my country was to learn the truth about 
this gigantic conspiracy ; yet, at the same time, my 
duty towards myself and towards the Princess was to 
leave Chantoiseau at once and forget all that had oc- 
curred. Signs had not been wanting in Paris during 
the past few days to corroborate what she had told 
me regarding the conspiracy of certain Powers against 
the prestige of their hated rival England. There was 
a lull in diplomatic affairs that was ominous ; a dis- 
tinctly oppressive atmosphere which foreboded a 
storm. 

Far into the night I sat thinking, trying to devise 
some plan by which I could obtain knowledge of her 
secret without committing myself. But I could find 
none — absolutely none. 

At early morning, before the others were astir, I 
took a stroll down the hill to where the clear Seine 
wound beneath the chalk cliff. The larks were soar- 
ing high, filling the air with their song. The boat- 
men going down-stream shouted wittily to each other 
between their hands, and the bronzed villagers on 


250 Her Majesty’s Minister 

their way to work in the vineyards chanted merrily 
the latest popular airs. Life is easy and prosperous 
among the peasantry around the Fontainebleau forest. 
In those clean white villages of the Department of 
Seine et Marne there is little, if any, poverty. I 
wandered through the pretty, flower-embowered vil- 
lage of Thomery, and, crossing the river by the long 
iron bridge, entered the smiling little hamlet of 
Champagne — a quaint and comely group of small cot- 
tages, where lived the vineyard- workers. This hamlet 
is famous for miles round because of a particularly 
venomous breed of vipers which infest the sun-kissed 
lands in its neighbourhood. Although only six 
o’clock, the prosperous little place was already busy, 
and as I wandered through the village, past the grey 
old church, and along the wide, well-kept road beside 
the river, I smiled to think that the name of that old- 
World place was known everywhere from Piccadilly 
to Peru, and was synonymous with wealth, luxury, 
and riotous living. 

Heedless as to where I went, so deeply engaged was 
I in conflicting feelings and in trying to determine 
whether I should keep that appointment on the foot- 
path to Moret, at last I found myself in Samoreau, 
where, crossing by the ferry, I returned to the forest, 
and at eight o’clock was back again, idling with 
several of the guests on the lawn in front of the 
chateau. 

After drinking my coffee, I sat in the window of 
one of the petit salons that overlooked the valley and 
took up a pen, meaning to write to my hostess, for I 
had resolved to send her a note of regret, and return 
at once to Paris. I could remain there no longer. 

Scarcely had I taken the note-paper from th^ escri- 


England’s Enemies 251 

toire, when the Baroness de Chalencon entered, fussy 
as usual and full of the excursion to Barbison. 

“ Leonie tells me you are not accompanying us,” she 
cried in French. “ I’ve been searching for you every- 
where. Why, my dear Gerald, you must come.” 

“ I regret, Baronne, that I can’t,” I answered. “ I 
have to go to Paris by the midday train.” 

“ How horribly unsociable you are ! ” she exclaimed. 
“Surely you can postpone your journey to Paris! 
Wolkenstein and the others have declared that we 
can’t do without you.” 

“ Express to them my regrets,” I said. “ But to- 
day it is utterly impossible. I must be at the Em- 
bassy this afternoon. I have important business 
there.” 

“ Well, I suppose if you failed to put in an appear- 
ance, a crisis in Europe would not result, would it ? ” 
she observed with a touch of grim irony. “ At the 
Kue de Lille or the Kue de Yarenne,” she added, 
meaning the German and Austrian Embassies, “ they 
take things far more easily than you do. That’s the 
worst of you English — you are always so very enthu- 
siastic and so painfully businesslike.” 

“I am compelled to do my duty,” I answered 
briefly. 

“Most certainly,” answered the Baroness. “But 
you might surely be sociable as well ! This is not like 
you, M’sieur Ingram.” 

“ I must apologise, Baronne,” I said. “ But, believe 
me, it is impossible for me to go to Barbison to-day. I 
have urgent correspondence here to attend to, and 
afterwards I must run up to Paris.” 

When she saw that I was firm, she reluctantly left 
me, saying as she disappeared through the door : 


252 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ I really don’t know what is coming to you. You 
are not at all the light and soul of the summer picnics, 
as you once used to be.” 

“ I’m growing old,” I shouted with a laugh. 

She halted, turned back, and, putting her head 
inside the room again, retorted in a low, distinct 
voice : 

“ Or have fallen in love — which is it ? ” 

I treated her suggestion with ridicule, and in the 
end she retired, laughing merrily, for at heart she was 
a pleasant woman, with whom I was always on ex- 
cellent terms of friendship. 

Then I sat down again to write, hoping to remain 
undisturbed. But although I held the pen poised in 
my hand I could think of no excuse. Three carriages 
drew up before the chateau, the coachmen wearing 
those handsome scarlet vests, conical hats, and many 
gold buttons, which together represent the mode in 
Fontainebleau and at Monte Carlo ; and the guests, a 
merry, laughing, chattering crowd, mounted into the 
vehicles. Big picnic baskets, with the gilt tops of 
champagne bottles peeping out, were placed in a light 
cart to follow the excursionists, and two of the guests 
— men from Vienna — mounted the horses held b}^ the 
grooms. Then, when all was ready, the whips 
cracked, there was a loud shouting of farewells to the 
hostess, who stood directing her servants, and the 
whole party moved off and away to the leafy forest 
lying below. 

I looked down from the window, and saw the Prin- 
cess standing on the drive — a sweet, girlish figure in 
her white dress, her slim waist girdled with blue, and 
her fair hair bound tightly beneath her sailor-hat. 
She scarcely looked more than nineteen as she stood 


England’s Enemies 253 

there in the morning sunlight, smiling and waving her 
little hand to her departing guests. 

She glanced up suddenly, and I drew back from 
the window to escape observation. So gentle, so 
tender, so fair was she. And yet I feared her — just 
as I feared myself. 


CHAPTEK XXYI 
A woman’s heart 

Keader, I do not know what influence it was that 
overcame me in that breathless hour of perplexity 
and indecision : whether it was the fascination of her 
beauty ; whether it was owing to the fact that I un- 
consciously entertained some affection for her; or 
whether it was because my sense of duty to my 
country urged me to endeavour to learn the secret 
of the conspiracy formed against her by the Powers 
of Europe. To-day, as I sit here writing down this 
strange chapter of secret diplomacy, I cannot decide 
which of these three influences caused me to throw 
my instinctive caution to the winds and keep the 
appointment in the leafy forest-glade that led through 
the beeches to Yeneux Xadon and on to quiet old Moret. 

Instinctively I felt myself in danger — that if I 
allowed myself to become fascinated by this capri- 
cious, impulsive woman, it would mean ruin to us 
both. Yet her beauty was renowned through Europe, 
and the illustrated papers seemed to vie with each 
other in publishing her new portraits. Her confes- 
sion to me had been sufficient to turn the head of any 
man. Nevertheless, with a fixed determination not 
to allow myself to fall beneath the fascination of 
those wonderful eyes, I strolled down the forest-path 
and awaited her coming. 

Soon she approached, walking over the mossy 
254 


A Woman's Heart 


255 


ground noiselessly, save for the quick swish of her 
skirts; and then with a glad cry of welcome, she 
grasped my hand. 

“ Ah ! ” she exclaimed, a slight flush mounting to 
her delicate, well-moulded cheeks, ‘‘you received my 
note last night, Gerald ? Can you forgive me ? I 
am a woman, and should not have written so.” 

“ Forgive ! ” I repeated. “ Of course I forgive you 
anything, Leonie.” 

“You think none the worse of me for it?” she 
urged, speaking rapidly in French. “Indeed, I al- 
lowed my pen to run away, and now I regret it.” 

I breathed more freely. Her attitude was that of 
a woman who, conscious of error, now wished it to 
be forgotten. 

“ To regret is quite unnecessary,” I assured her in a 
low voice of sympathy. “We are all of us human, 
and sometimes we err.” 

Silence fell between us for a few moments. It 
struck me that she was striving strenuously to pre- 
serve her self-restraint. 

“You will destroy that letter, promise me,” she 
urged, looking piercingly into my face. “ It was 
foolish — very foolish — of me to write it.” 

“I have done so,” I answered, although, truth to 
tell, it stiU remained in my pocket. 

“ And you will not despise me because in an hour 
of foolishness I confessed my love for you ? ” 

“I shall never despise you, Leonie,” I answered. 
“We have always been good friends, but never lovers. 
The latter we never shall be.” 

She looked at me quickly, with a strange expression. 

“Never?” she asked, in a tone so low that I could 
scarcely catch the word. 


256 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“Never,” I responded. 

Her laces stirred as her breast rose and fell, and I 
saw that she herself was endeavouring to evade my 
query, although at the same time her heart was full 
of the same impetuous passion which had so much 
amazed me on the previous night. I had spoken 
plainly, and my single word, uttered firmly, had 
crushed her. 

It occurred to me that I had made a mistake. I 
had not acted diplomatically. I knew, alas! that I 
was, and always had been, a terrible blunderer in 
regard to women’s affections. Some men are unlucky 
in their love-affairs. I was one of them. 

We walked slowly together side by side for some 
distance, neither uttering a word. At last I halted 
again, and, taking her hand, bent earnestly to her, 
saying : 

“ Now, Leonie, let us put aside any sentimentality 
and talk reasonably.” 

“ Ah ! ” she said, her eyes flashing quickly, “ you do 
not love me. Put aside sentiment indeed ! How can 
I put it aside ? ” 

“ But a moment ago you suggested that we should 
forget what passed between us yesterday ? ” 

“ I did so in order to test you — to see whether you 
had a spark of affection for me in your heart. But 
the bare, cold truth is now exposed. You have 
not ! ” 

Her face was ashen, and her magnificent eyes had 
a strange look in them. 

“ Could you respect me and count me your friend, 
Leonie, if I feigned an affection which did not really 
exist within me ? ” I asked. “ Keason with yourself 
for a moment. Had I been unscrupulous towards you 


A Woman’s Heart 


2^7 

I might yesterday have told you that I reciprocated 
your affection, and ” 

“ And you do not ? ” she cried. “ Tell me the truth 
plainly, once and for all.” 

“ You offered me in exchange for my love a secret 
which would enable me to defeat the enemies of my 
country, and probably cause my advancement in the 
diplomatic service. You offered me the greatest 
temptation possible.” 

“ E'o,” she said, putting up her hand, “ do not use 
the word temptation.” 

“ I will call it inducement, then. Well, this induce- 
ment was strong enough to persuade me to break the 
bond of friendship between us, and to cause me to 
occupy a false position. But I have hesitated, be- 
cause ” 

“ Because you do not love me,” she said quickly, in- 
terrupting me. 

“ 1 ^ 0 , Leonie,” I protested. “ Between us it is hard 
to define the exact line where friendship ends and love 
begins. Our own discretion should be able to define 
it. Tell me, which do you prefer — a firm friend — or a 
false lover ? ” 

“ You are too coldly philosophical,” she answered. 

“ I only put it to you from a common-sense stand- 
point.” 

“And which position is to be preferred?” she 
asked. “ Your own, as that of a diplomatist with a 
paltry fifty thousand francs or so a year, and com- 
pelled to worry yourself over every trifling action of 
those who represent the Courts of your enemies ; or 
that of my husband, with an income that would place 
you far above the necessity of allowing your brain to 
be worried by everyday trifles ? ” 


258 Her Majesty’s Minister 

She paused, and her lips trembled. Then with 
a sudden desperate passion she went on : 

“ People say that I am good-looking, and my mirror 
tells me so ; yet you, the man I love, can see in me no 
beauty that is attractive. To you I am simply a 
smart woman who is at the same time a princess — 
that is all.” 

“ I am no flatterer, L6onie,” I cried quickly. “ But 
as regards personal beauty you are superb, incom- 
parable. Kemember what Yian said when he painted 
your portrait for the Salon — that you were the only 
woman he had ever painted whose features together 
made a perfect type of beauty.” 

“ Ah ! you remember that ! ” she said, smiling with 
momentary satisfaction. “ I thought you had forgot- 
ten it. I fear that my beauty is not what it was five 
years ago.” 

“You are the same to-day as when we first met and 
were introduced. It was at Longchamps. Do you 
remember ? ” 

“Kemember? I recollect every incident of that 
day,” she answered. “You have been ever in my 
mind since.” 

“ As a friend, I hope.” 

“ No, as a lover.” 

“Impossible,” I declared. “Do reason for an in- 
stant, L6onie. At this moment I am proud to count 
myself among your most intimate personal friends, 
but love between us would only result in disaster. If 
we married, the difference in our stations would be as 
irksome to you as to me ; and if I did not love you, 
the link would only cause us both unhappiness, and, 
in a year or two, estrangement.” 


A Woman’s Heart 


259 

“ Only if you did not love me. If you loved me it 
would be different.” 

“ You would still be a princess and I a struggling 
diplomatist.” 

“ It would make no difference. Our love would be 
the same,” she answered passionately. “ Ah, Gerald, 
you cannot tell how very lonely my life is without a 
single person to care for me ! I think I am the most 
melancholy woman in all the world. True, I have 
wealth, position, and good looks, the three things that 
the world believes necessary for the well-being of 
women ; but I lack one — the most necessary of them 
all — the affection of the man I love.” 

“ I can’t help it, Leonie ! ” I cried. “ Indeed, it is 
not my fault that my friendship does not overstep the 
bounds. Some day it may, but I tell you frankly and 
honestly that at present it does not. I am your 
friend, earnest and devoted to you — a friend such as 
few women have, perhaps. Were I not actually your 
friend I should now, at this moment, become selfish, 
feign love, and thus become your bitterest enemy.” 

“ You are cold as ice,” she answered hoarsely, in a 
low tone of disappointment. 

Her countenance fell, as though she were utterly 
crushed by my straightforward declaration. 

“Ho, you misunderstand,” I replied, taking her 
hand tenderly in mine, and speaking very earnestly. 
“ To-day the romance that exists within the breast of 
every woman is stirred within you, and causes you to 
utter the same words as you did at sixteen, when your 
first love was, in your eyes, a veritable god. You will 
recall those days — days when youth was golden, and 
when the world seemed a world of unceasing sunshine 
and of roses without thorns. But you, like myself, 


26 o Her Majesty’s Minister 

have obtained knowledge of what life really is, and 
have become callous to so much that used to impress 
and influence us in those long past days. We have 
surely both of us taught ourselves to pause and to 
reason.” 

She hung her head in silence, as if she were a 
scolded child, her looks fixed upon the ground. 

“ My refusal to mislead you into a belief that I love 
you is as painful to me as it is to you, Leonie,” I went 
on, still holding her hand in mine. “ I would do any- 
thing rather than cause you a moment’s trouble and 
unhappiness, but I am determined that I will not play 
you false. These are plain, hard words, I know ; but 
some day you will thank me for them — you will thank 
me for refusing to entice you into a marriage which 
could only bring unhappiness to both of us.” 

“ I shall never thank you for breaking my heart,” 
she said in a sad voice, looking up at me. “ You can- 
not know how I suffer, or you would never treat me 
thus ! ” 

“ The truth is always hardest to speak,” I answered, 
adding, in an attempt to console her : “ Let us end it 

all, and return to our old style of friendship.” 

“ I cannot ! ” she said, shaking her head — “ I can- 
not ! ” and she burst into tears. 

I stood beside her in the forest-path, helpless and 
perplexed. Was it possible, I wondered, that the plot 
of the Powers against England existed only in her im- 
agination, and that she had invented it in order to use 
it as a lever to gain my affections ? She was a clever, 
resourceful woman — that I knew; but never during 
the course of our friendship had I found her guilty of 
double-dealing or of attempting to deceive me in any 
way whatever. More than once, when she reigned in 


A Woman’s Heart 


261 

Paris as queen of Society, she had whispered to me 
secrets that had been of the greatest use to us at the 
Embassy ; and once, owing to her, we had been fore- 
armed against a dastardly attempt on the part of an 
enemy to assist the Boers to defy us. A niece of the 
Emperor of Austria, she was received at the various 
Courts of Europe, and visited several of the reigning 
sovereigns ; therefore, she was always full of such 
tittle-tattle as is ever busy among those who live be- 
neath the shadow of a throne, and was far better in- 
formed as to political alfairs than many of the am- 
bassadors ; yet withal she was eminently cautious and 
discreet, and, if she wished, could be as silent as the 
grave. Nevertheless, although signs were many that 
the war-cloud had again arisen and was once more 
hanging heavily over Europe, I could not bring my- 
self to believe that the plot now hatched was quite as 
serious as she made it out to be. The world of diplo- 
macy in Paris is full of mares’ nests, and alarms are 
almost of daily occurrence. When events do not con- 
spire to create them, then those ingenious gentlemen, 
the Paris correspondents of the great journals, sit 
down and invent them. The centre of diplomatic 
Europe is Paris, which is also the centre of the can- 
ards, those ingeniously concocted stories which so 
often throw half Europe into alarm, and for which 
the sensational journalists alone are responsible. 

“ Come, Leonie,” I said tenderly at last, “ this is no 
time for tears. I regret exceedingly that this inter- 
view is so painful, but it is my duty towards you as a 
man and as your friend to be firm in preventing you 
from taking a step which after a short time you would 
bitterly repent.” 

“ If you become my husband I shall never repent ! ” 


262 Her Majesty’s Minister 

she cried. “ You are the only man I have ever loved. 
I did not love the Prince as I love you ! I know,” 
she added, panting — “ I know how unseemly it is that 
I, a woman, should utter these words ; but my heart 
is full, and my pent-up feelings are now revenging 
themselves for their long imprisonment.” 

I felt myself wavering. This woman who had 
thrown herself into my arms was wealthy beyond the 
wildest dreams of avarice, world-renowned for her 
beauty and high intellect — a woman altogether worthy 
and noble. Each moment her powers of fascination 
grew stronger, and I felt that, after all, I was treat- 
ing her affection with slight regard, for I was now 
convinced that her love was no mere caprice or sud- 
den passion. 

Yet, after all, my belief in woman’s honesty and 
purity had been shaken by the discovery that Yolande 
was a spy and that Edith, after all her protestations, 
had a secret lover. These two facts caused me, I 
think, to regard the Princess with some suspicion, al- 
though at the same time I could not disguise from 
myself the truth that her emotion was real and her 
passion genuine. 

‘‘Your confession is but the confession of an honest 
woman, Leonie,” I said with tenderness. “But what 
has passed between us must be forgotten. You tempt 
me to assume a position that I could not maintain. 
Think for a moment. Is it right ? Is it just either 
to yourself or to me ? ” 

“ Will you not accept the offer I made you yester- 
day ? ” she asked in the tone of one desperate, her 
eyes fixed upon mine in fierce earnestness. “Will 
you not learn the secret and save your country from 
ignominy ? ” 


A Woman’s Heart 263 

I held my breath, and my eyes fixed themselves 
on hers. Her tear-stained face was blanched to the 
lips. 

Ho, Leonie,” I answered. ‘‘ Anxious as I am to 
save England from the net which her unscrupulous 
enemies have spread for her, I refuse to do so at the 
cost of your happiness.” 

“And that decision is irrevocable?” she asked, 
with a quick look of menace. 

“ It is irrevocable,” I replied. 

“ Yes, I know,” she said in a hoarse whisper — “be- 
cause another woman holds you in her toils! Well, 
we shall see ! ” and she laughed bitterly, the swift fire 
of jealousy flashing for an instant in the brilliant eyes 
that half Europe had delighted to praise. “I love 
you,” she continued, “ and some day you will love me. 
Meanwhile, my secret is my own.” 


CHAPTEE XXYII 


THE UNEXPECTED 

A FORTNIGHT passed uneventfully. After that 
morning walk with the Princess I left Chantoiseau 
and returned to Paris. My presence at the chateau 
after what had passed between us was as dangerous 
to her as to me. I wrote her a letter of farewell and 
went back to the capital that same afternoon. 

In response, she had sent me a wildly worded note 
by a manservant, in which she declared that the rea- 
son I cast aside her love was because of the attractions 
of some other woman. This letter, together with the 
letter she had sent to my room, I kept locked in a 
drawer in the little den which served me as study 
and smoking-room. Xow that they were safe under 
lock and key, I resolved to forget their curious and 
romantic history. 

But the one matter uppermost in my mind was the 
alleged plot by the Powers against England. As I 
had given the Princess my word of honour not to 
mention it to a soul, I was unable to consult Lord 
Barmouth, and was compelled to wait and watch for 
signs that the conspiracy was in progress. 

Those days were full of fevered anxiety. His Ex- 
cellency was absent in the country, and the duties of 
the Embassy devolved upon myself. The facts that 
the German Ambassador had travelled suddenly to 
Berlin to consult the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and 

264 


The Unexpected 265 

that urgent despatches were being exchanged daily be- 
tween the Austrian Embassy and Vienna, seemed to 
me to establish the truth of Leonie’s statement. I 
met my friends Volkouski and Korniloff, the Kussian 
attaches, in the Grand Cafe one evening, and we spent 
an hour together over our consummation down at the 
Alcazar, in the Champs Elysees ; but they apparently 
knew nothing, or, if they did, naturally hesitated to 
expose their secret. Hither and thither I sought for 
evidence, and with my suspicions aroused found con- 
firmation of the Princess’s story in every diplomatic 
action. The German Emperor made a speech in Ber- 
lin in which, with many references to his grandfather 
and the Fatherland, he assured Europe that never in 
recent history had peace been so firmly established 
among nations ; and both from Borne and St. Peters- 
burg came news of unusual inactivity. That calm 
foreboded a storm. 

As those hot, anxious days went slowly past I strove 
to form some theory as to the manner in which the 
conspiracy had been arranged and as to the persons 
chiefly responsible, but could find none. Had not 
Leonie plainly told me that this dastardly plot among 
jealous nations aimed directly at the undermining of 
the British power, the ruin of England’s prestige, and 
the destruction of her supremacy on the sea ? I, as a 
diplomatist, knew too well the vulnerability of our 
Empire. We have patriotism, it is true, for the sons 
of England will ever shed the last drop of their blood 
in the defence of their beloved country ; but some- 
thing more than patriotism is now necessary for suc- 
cessful defence. In these days, when Europe is daily 
arming and small republics, backed by certain of the 
Powers, amuse themselves by twisting the Lion’s tail, 


266 Her Majesty’s Minister 

an efficient British army is necessary, as well as a 
navy that must be stronger than that of the rest of 
the world. We at the embassies know how, by de- 
scending to methods which we as Englishmen scorn 
to use, our enemies are often able to outwit and check- 
mate us ; and we know also that in England foreign 
spies are allowed to come and go at will, and that 
the interesting gentlemen whom we welcome are 
gradually elaborating their plans for the invasion of 
our shores. 

Many there are who laugh at the idea of an invasion 
of England, but every diplomatist in Europe knows 
well that the problem is discussed in every military 
centre on the Continent, and that in certain quarters 
strategists have drawn up plans by which the catas- 
trophe can undoubtedly be accomplished. Therefore, 
in spite of the sneers of those who rest upon a false 
belief in their insular security, we should be in a con- 
dition not only to defend, but to defy — a condition 
which, to our sorrow, does not at present exist. 

The Princess had offered me such information as 
would enable me to crush the conspiracy against us, 
and I had refused her terms. Sometimes, as I sat 
alone in my room thinking, I felt that I had made a 
mistake, and that I ought, in the interests of my 
country, to have accepted. Then, at others, I felt glad 
that I had had the courage to refuse her conditions, and 
to leave her as I had done. As she had learned the 
truth from the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria, the 
secret must be known in the Court circle at Vienna. 

Yet unfortunately it was impossible for me to go 
there, and equally impossible, after giving my word of 
honour to Leonie, to explain my fears to Kaye and 
allow the secret service to make inquiries. I knew 


The Unexpected 267 

from many signs that catastrophe was imminent, but 
was utterly powerless to avert it. 

Keader, place yourself for a single moment in my 
position — your own honour at stake on the one hand, 
and that of your country on the other. It seemed 
base to speak, base to keep silence. 

I shall not easily forget what I suffered during this 
period of anxious inactivity. The weeks went by. 
Lord Barmouth came back sun-tanned and jovial, and 
all the other representatives of the European Courts 
returned one by one after their summer leave. Pa- 
risians, driven away by wet weather, deserted the 
plages, the chateaux, and the various inland watering- 
places ; and from Dieppe and Trouville, Arcachon and 
Luchon, Yichy and Aix, Eoyat and Contrexeville the 
crowds of mothers and daughters, with a sprinkling 
of fathers, came gaily back to their favourite boule- 
vards, their favourite magasins, and their favourite 
cafes. Paris was herself again — for the winds were 
cold, the leaves in the boulevards were falling in 
showers, and the wet pavements were rendered dis- 
agreeable on account of them. 

One afternoon towards the end of November I 
entered my little flat with my latchkey, and walked 
straight into my sitting-room, when, to my surprise, 
a beautiful girl rose from the chair in which she had 
been sitting, and, without speaking a word, held out 
her hand. 

“You — Edith ! ” I gasped, utterly taken aback. 

“ Yes,” she said in a strained voice. “ Will you not 
welcome me? Your man said he expected you every 
moment, and asked me to await you. I ought not to 
have come here, to your chambers, I know, but being 
in Paris I could not resist,” 


268 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“I never dreamed that you were here. Is your 
aunt with you ? ” 

“Yes,” she replied. “I have at last managed to 
persuade her to winter on the Italian Kiviera.” 

“ Where ? ” 

“At San Kemo. Our vicar at Eyburgh stayed 
there for a month last winter, and gave us a most 
glowing account of it. Judging from the photographs, 
it must be a most delightful place — quite an earthly 
paradise for those wishing to avoid the English frost 
and fogs. Do you know it ? ” 

“Yes,” I answered, seating myself in a chair oppo- 
site her. “ IVe been there once. It is, as you antici- 
pate, perfectly charming. You will no doubt enjoy 
yourself immensely.” 

Her lips compressed, and her eyes were fixed upon 
mine. 

“I shall, I fear, not have much enjoyment,” she 
sighed sadly. 

“ Why?” 

“ You know why well enough,” she answered in a 
tone of bitter reproach. 

“Because we are parted,” I said. “Well, Edith, I, 
too, regret it. But need we discuss that incident 
further? We are still friends, and I am glad that 
you have not passed through Paris without sparing 
an hour to call upon me.” 

“ But it is to discuss it that I came here,” she pro- 
tested quickly. Her rich fur cape had slipped from 
her shoulders and lay behind her in my big armchair. 
In her black tailor-made gown and her elegant hat, 
which bore the unmistakable stamp of having been 
purchased since her arrival in Paris, she looked smart 
and attractive. Her pure, open face was exquisite to 


The Unexpected 269 

behold, even though a trifle thinner and paler than 
on that summer’s day when we had wandered by the 
river and she had pledged her love to me. But as she 
sat before me toying with her bracelet, from which a 
dozen little charms were hanging, the remembrance 
of her base deception flashed through my brain. I 
held her in suspicion — and suspicion of this kind is 
the seed of hatred. 

“ I cannot see what there is to discuss,” I answered 
coldly, at the same time ringing and ordering tea for 
her. “ Nor can I see,” I added, “ what good there is 
in reopening a chapter in our lives which ought to be 
forever closed.” 

“ No, Gerald,” she cried, “ don’t say that ! Those 
words break my heart. It is not closed. You do not 
understand.” 

“ To speak of it only causes pain to both of us,” I 
said. ‘‘ Cannot you visit me as a friend and resolve 
not to discuss the unfortunate affair ? ” 

“No,” she declared quickly, “I cannot. I have 
come to you to-day, Gerald, to explain and to ask 
your forgiveness. My aunt is confined to her room 
with a headache, and I have managed to slip away 
from the hotel and come to you here.” 

“ Well ? ” I asked rather coldly. 

I confess that her visit annoyed me, for I saw in 
her attitude a desire to make such explanations as 
would satisfy me; but, taught by experience, I was 
resolved to accept no word from her as the truth. 
She had deceived me once ; and although she was the 
only woman I had really loved honestly and well, her 
wiles and fascinations had no longer any power over 
me. 

Gerald,” she exclaimed, as she rose suddenly, 


270 Her Majesty’s Minister 

crossed the space between us, and, after placing her 
arms about my neck, sank upon her knees at my side, 
“ I ask your forgiveness.” 

She spoke in a manner the most intense ; and I saw 
how nervous and anxious she was. Yes, she had 
altered considerably since that day at Eyburgh when 
we had strolled together in the sunset and I had told 
her of my love. Her features were sharper, paler, 
and more refined. Grief had left its imprint upon 
that sweet, pure countenance, which had always re- 
minded me so vividly of Yan Dyck’s “Madonna” in 
the Pitti at Florence. Do you know it? You will 
find it — a small picture too often unnoticed, only a 
foot square, hung low down in the Saloon of the 
Painters. It shows a marvellously beautiful face, 
perfect in its contour, graced by a sweet and child- 
like mouth with the true Cupid’s bow, and with eyes 
dark and searching. This perfect type of beauty so 
markedly resembled Edith that its photograph might 
almost be accepted as a portrait of her. 

There, on her knees, she twice besought my forgive- 
ness. But I remained silent. To forgive was impos- 
sible, I knew ; nevertheless, I had no desire to cause 
her pain. Her face told me that she had already 
suffered sufficiently in the months that had elapsed 
since I had bidden her farewell at the little railway- 
station in rural England. 

“Speak I” she cried. “Tell me, Gerald, that you 
love no one else beside myself — that — that you will 
forgive me ! ” 

Turning to her, I grasped her hand, and, looking 
straight into those eyes which I had once believed 
to be so full of truth, honesty, and affection, I an- 
swered earnestly ; 


The Unexpected 27 1 

“ I love no woman on earth except yourself, Edith. 
But to forgive is quite impossible.” 

“No!” she cried wildly — “no! you cannot he cold 
and callous if you really love me. See ! here at your 
feet I beseech of you to allow me to prove my inno- 
cence and show my love for you ! ” 

“I once believed implicitly in you, Edith,” I said 
very gravely, still holding her hand; “but the dis- 
covery that you met your lover clandestinely beneath 
the very window of my room has so shaken my con- 
fidence that it is utterly impossible for you ever to 
reestablish it.” 

“ But he is not my lover ! ” she protested, her 
blanched face upturned to mine. “ I swear he is not ; 
nor has he ever been.” 

“ I have no proof of your declaration,” I answered, 
shaking my head dubiously. 

“Except my oath,” she gasped in desperation. 
“ Cannot you accept that ? I swear by all I hold 
most sacred,” she cried, lifting her head and raising 
her face to Heaven — “I swear that I entertain no 
spark of affection for that man, and that he has never 
been my lover ! ” 

“ Then who is he ? ” I demanded. “ What is his 
name ? ” 


CHAPTEE XXVIII 


ON THE CROOKED WAY 

She held her breath. Her hand trembled within 
my grasp. Then, after a moment, she faltered : 

“ He is not my lover. Is not my declaration suffi- 
cient ? ” 

“Ho, it is not,’’ I responded harshly. “If he is 
nothing to you, as you allege, then why did you meet 
him secretly at night, and make an appointment to 
meet again after I had left Eyburgh ? ” 

“ Because I was forced to — because ” 

“ Because you have allowed that shabby adventurer 
to love you ! ” I interrupted. “ Because you have 
played me false!” 

“ I deny it ! ” she protested, a gleam of defiance 
flashing for an instant in her eyes. “ I have never 
played you false, Gerald. The charge against me is 
utterly false and unfounded.” 

“Then perhaps you will explain this wandering 
visitor’s business with you.” 

“ I would tell you all — all that has passed between 
us, but I dare not. My every action is watched, and 
if I breathed a single word to you he would know ; 
and then ” 

“And what would happen then, pray?” I asked 
with some surprise, for I now saw that she enter- 
tained a deadly fear of her midnight visitor ; it was 
evident that he held some mysterious power over her. 

272 


273 


On the Crooked Way 

“ The result would be disastrous,” she replied in a 
mechanical tone of voice. 

“In what way?” 

“ I^ot only would it upset all the plans I have 
formed, but would in all probability be the cause of 
my own ruin — perhaps even of my suicide,” she 
added. 

“ I don’t understand you, Edith,” I said, turning 
again to her, in the hope that she would confide in 
me. “ How would it cause your ruin ? If you hesi- 
tate to tell me the truth, then it is certain that you 
fear some exposure.” 

“ You are quite right,” she answered, meeting my 
gaze unflinchingly ; “ I do fear exposure.” 

“Then you admit your guilt? You admit that 
what I have alleged is the actual truth ? ” 

“I do not, for a single instant. The charge is 
false, and without the slightest foundation,” she 
asserted. “ You saw me speaking with him, you may 
have overheard our conversation, and you no doubt 
believe that he is my lover. But I tell you he is 
not.” 

“ His movements were mysterious,” I said dubiously. 
“ I followed him.” 

“ You followed him ! ” she gasped, all colour leav- 
ing her face in an instant. “ You actually followed 
him ! Where did he go ? ” 

She spoke as though she feared that I had discov- 
ered the truth as to his identity and calling. 

“ To a village some little distance away,” I replied 
ambiguously; “and I there discovered one or two 
things which increased my interest in him.” 

“What did you discover? Tell me,” she urged, 
grasping my hand anxiously. 


274 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ What I discovered only led me still further to the 
belief that he held you within his power.” 

“ I have already admitted that,” she exclaimed. 
“ I am perfectly frank in that respect.” 

“ And you will not tell me the reason ? If you 
refuse to be open and straightforward with me, 
there surely can be no love between us. Confidence 
is the first step towards the union of man with 
woman.” 

“ I will tell you the reason,” she replied in a strange 
voice, almost as though she were speaking to herself. 
“ It is because a secret exists between us.” 

“ Ah ! ” I cried, “ I thought so. The secret of a 
love-affair — eh ? ” 

“ It concerns a love-affair, it is true, but not our 
own.” 

“ Oh, now this is interesting ! ” I cried with bitter 
sarcasm. “ You are bound to each other because of 
your common knowledge of the love-affair of a third 
person. That is curious, to say the least of it. No,” 
I added, “ I’m afraid, Edith, I cannot accept such a 
remarkable explanation, notwithstanding the inge- 
nuity displayed in its construction.” 

“In other words, you insinuate that I am lying 
to you ! ” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with 
indignation. 

“ I do not use the term ‘ lying,’ ” I said with a smile ; 
“the word ‘prevarication’ is more applicable. A 
woman never lies.” 

“ You are not treating me seriously,” she com- 
plained quickly. “ I have come here to tell you all 
that I can, and ” 

“And you have told me practically nothing,” I 
interposed. 


On the Crooked Way 275 

“ I have told you all that I dare at present,” she 
answered. “ Some day, ere long, I hope to be in a 
position to make full confession to you, and then you 
will fully understand my action and appreciate the 
extreme difficulty and deadly peril in which I find 
myself at this moment.” 

“ You admit that you have a confession to make ?” 

‘‘ Of course I admit it. I wronged you when I met 
that man on the very night you were a guest beneath 
our roof. It is but just that you should know the 
whole of the ghastly truth.” 

“ That is what I am endeavouring to obtain from 
you,” I said. “ I want to know who that shabby fel- 
low was, and why he took such pains to keep his 
presence in Great Ky burgh a secret.” 

“ He had some good reason, I presume,” she replied. 

“ Do you declare that you know absolutely nothing 
of his movements ? ” I inquired. 

“ I know but little of them.” 

How long have you been acquainted ? ” 

“ Two years — perhaps a little longer.” 

“ And he has visited you often ? ” 

“ Ho, at infrequent intervals.” 

“ Always at night ? ” 

“ Always.” 

“ He evidently is a shrewd fellow, who does 
not wish his presence in that chattering little vil- 
lage to be known,” I said with a laugh. Then I 
added: “You went for moonlight rambles with him, 
I suppose ? ” 

“He wished to talk with me, and on such occa- 
sions we took one or other of the paths across the 
fields.” 

“ Very interesting,” I said. “ And all this time you 


276 Her Majesty’s Minister 

were causing me to believe that you were mine alone ! 
Are you surprised at my refusal to forgive ? ” 

“ I should be if I were guilty of playing you false,” 
she answered with slight haughtiness, as though my 
words wounded her self-respect. 

“ If you were not guilty you would never endeavour 
to conceal your lover’s name, as you are now doing ! ” 
I exclaimed. 

“It is because I dare not tell you,” she replied, 
with a look of desperation on her face. “Were I to 
utter a word in explanation of the true state of affairs, 
all would be over, and both you and I would suffer.” 

“ How should I suffer ? ” I asked with some interest. 

“ The affair is much more curious and complicated 
than you imagine,” she said. “Knowledge of the 
truth could only bring ruin upon you.” 

“ Kubbish ! ” I cried roughly, starting up. “ What 
have I to fear ? ” 

“ Ko, Gerald,” she implored, gripping my hand 
tightly, “do not treat this matter with indifference. 
It is, I tell you, a grave one for both of us.” 

“ In what way ? ” 

“ Ah,” she sighed, “ if only I might tell you ! If 
only I dared ! ” 

“ If you love me as you did on that evening when 
we wandered beside the river, you would brave all 
these mythical dangers and tell me the truth, Edith,” 
I said, bending towards her in a persuasive manner. 

“ But, as I have explained, I cannot. I will not — 
for your sake ! ” 

“ How can knowledge of it possibly affect me ? ” I 
cried. 

She paused for a moment and then answered : 

“ There are certain hidden influences at work, 


On the Crooked Way 277 

of which you, Gerald, have no suspicion. I alone 
am aware of the truth. Cannot you place sufficient 
confidence in me — in the woman who loves you — to 
leave the matter in my hands ? Surely our interests 
are mutual ! ” 

“ I have, I regret, no confidence,” I said bluntly. 

“Ah! because you are jealous,” she replied quite 
calmly. “Well, that is but natural in the circum- 
stances. You discovered and you believe him to 
be my lover. JS’evertheless, your jealousy should not 
lead you into any rash action which might wreck your 
life.” 

“ You speak as though you are anxious with regard 
to my personal safety. What have I to fear ? ” 

“ You have to fear the machinations of unscrupulous 
enemies,” she said anxiously. “You are living in 
ignorance of the peril that daily threatens you, and I 
— who love you so well — am unable to give you a 
single hint which might warn you of the pitfall so 
cunningly concealed.” 

There was an earnestness in her tone which struck 
me as curious. What could she, a girl living in a quiet 
country village in England, know about “ the machi- 
nations of unscrupulous enemies”? She spoke as 
though well versed in the diplomatic plots of Paris, 
even as though she would corroborate what the 
Princess had alleged. It was odd, and caused me 
much refiection. What could she possibly know ? 

“ It is only fair to me that you should warn me of 
the peril,” I said at last. 

“ Hush I ” she whispered, looking round the room in 
fear ; “ the very walls have ears. If it were believed 
that I had spoken to you of this, a catastrophe, terrible 
and complete, would ensue.” 


278 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ Really, Edith,” I said, ‘‘ you speak in enigmas. I 
don’t know what to believe.” 

“Believe in me,” she answered in a deep, earnest 
voice. “ Believe in my truth and purity as you did 
before, for I protest that never for a single instant 
have I forgotten the vows I made to you.” 

“ Ah,” I said very sadly, “ if I could only believe 
that you really love me, how happy I should be I But 
as it is, I fear this to be quite impossible.” 

“ E'o,” she wailed, tears welling in her eyes. 
“ Surely the sight of that man unknown to you has 
not destroyed all your belief in woman’s honesty and 
affection ? You must, deep down in your heart, see 
that I love you firmly and well. You cannot be so 
blind, Gerald, as to believe that here, to-day, I am 
playing you false ! Ah ! if you only knew ! ” she 
sighed. “ If you only knew all that I am suffering, 
you would pity me, and you would take me in your 
embrace as once you used to do, and kiss me on the 
lips as a sign of your forgiveness. I can suffer,” she 
went on brokenly — “ I can endure the awful anxiety 
and tribulation for your sake ; I can cheerfully bear 
the jeers of men and the insults of women, but I can- 
not bear your coldness to me, because I love you, and 
because you once declared that you were mine.” 

“ This estrangement has arisen between us through 
your own fault,” I answered. 

Just at this moment my man rapped smartly at the 
door, and Edith rose quickly from her knees before he 
entered with the tea. The little silver service was a 
quaint relic of the Queen Anne period, which had long 
been in my family, and which was always admired 
by the brilliant Parisiennes who often did me the 
honour of taking a cup of English tea — not, of course, 


On the Crooked Way 279 

because they liked the beverage, but because to drink 
it is nowadays considered chic. My man told me that 
a messenger had called from the Embassy, and I left 
the room for a few moments to see him. 

But Edith disregarded the fact that tea had been 
brought. The instant I returned and the door had 
closed again, she came across to me, saying : 

“ It was not my fault, Gerald ; it was his. He com- 
pelled me to meet him.” 

“ For what reason ? ” 

“ He wished me to render him a service.” 

“ Of what character ? ” 

“ That I cannot explain.” 

“ You of course acquiesced ? ” 

‘‘ Ho, I refused.” 

“ And yet the fact that you met him against your 
will shows in itself that you were in his power,” I re- 
marked. “ How was it that you could refuse ? ” 

She was silent a moment, standing before me wan 
and pale in her black dress, her gloved hands clasped 
before her. 

“ I defied him,” she answered simply. 

“Well?” I inquired. 

“Well, that is the reason why I live in dread of a 
catastrophe.” 

“ Answer me this question. Yes or Ho. Your mys- 
terious visitor was a foreigner ? ” 

I recollected what the innkeeper’s wife had told me 
— namely, that the word “ Firenze ” was on the tabs 
of his boots. 

“Yes,” she answered in a half- whisper. 

“ An Italian ? ” 

“ How did you know that ? ” she gasped in quick 
surprise. 


28 o Her Majesty's Minister 

“ From my own inquiries,” I answered. 

“ But do take my advice,” she cried earnestly, her 
hand upon my arm. “ Make no further inquiries re- 
garding him ; otherwise I may be suspected and all 
my plans will be frustrated.” 

“ What plans ? ” 

“ Plans I have made for our mutual protection,” she 
whispered. ‘‘ If you knew all the details you would 
not be surprised at my anxiety that you should remain 
inactive and leave all to me. I am but a woman ; 
nevertheless, I am at least loyal to you, the man I love. 
Forgive me,” she implored, raising her white, pained 
face to mine — “ forgive me, Gerald, I beg and pray of 
you. Have confidence in me, and I will some day, 
ere long, prove to you that I am, after all, worthy of 
your love.” 

“Forgiveness is easy, but forgetfulness difficult,” I 
said, taking her hand and looking straight into the 
dark splendour of those soft eyes. 

After the shrill-tongued, voluble foreign women by 
whom I was ever surrounded, this sweet English girl 
breathed peace and paradise to my wearied heart. 

“ But you will forgive me ? ” she implored in deep 
earnestness. “ Say that you will ! ” 

Her attitude impressed upon me* forcibly the con- 
viction that, after all, she really loved me. Neverthe- 
less, the whole affair seemed so mysterious and per- 
plexing that I found it difficult to regard her motives 
with unquestioning faith. 

“Yes,” I said at length, “I forgive you, Edith. 
But until you can explain all the mystery, I tell you 
frankly that I cannot entertain full confidence in you.” 

“ You will, however, leave me to carry out the plan 
I have formed ? ” she urged anxiously. 


On the Crooked Way 281 

“ If you wish.” 

“ And if I am denounced by one or other of my 
enemies, you will not believe that denunciation before 
I am at liberty to expose to you the whole truth ? 
Promise me that — do ! ” 

“Yery well,” I responded, “it shall be as you 
wish.” 

Then as those words left my lips she sprang forward 
with a loud cry of joy, and, throwing her arms about 
my neck, kissed me wildly in joy, saying : 

“ You shall never regret this decision, Gerald, never 
— nemr ! ” 

For fully an hour we sat together, our tea un- 
touched, so preoccupied were we with the burden of 
our hearts ; then, declaring that Aunt Hetty would 
miss her, she reluctantly rose. When I had put her 
cape round her shoulders, we went downstairs to- 
gether, I having promised to accompany her in a 
fiacre as far as the Grand Hotel. 

Just as we were about to step into the street, I en- 
countered Kaye, who evidently wished to have a word 
with me. As he raised his hat, I noticed how intently 
he was examining my companion’s face; then he 
passed us and entered the wide hall leading to the 
stairs. A moment later, however, he turned suddenly, 
and said : 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Ingram, might I speak with you 
for one moment ? I see you are going out.” 

“ Certainly,” I answered ; and after excusing myself 
to Edith I moved off a few paces with him. 

The words he uttered were spoken in a whisper. 
They startled me. 

“Have a care, Mr. Ingram,” he said meaningly. 
“We know that woman ! ” 


CHAPTEE XXIX 


KAYE IS PUZZLED 

Having seen Edith as far as the Grand Hotel, I re- 
entered the fiacre and at once drove back to my own 
rooms, where I found the chief of the secret service 
awaiting me. 

“ What do you mean by saying that you know that 
lady ? ” I inquired breathlessly. 

“ Simply that we know her, that’s all,” he replied, 
with an air of mystery. 

“ Look here, Kaye,” I said, “ just tell me plainly and 
straightforwardly what you know regarding her ? ” 

‘‘ She’s a person to be avoided, that’s all.” 

“ To be avoided ! ” I echoed. “ Why, surely she has 
no connection with the persons you are watching ? 
She lives in Norfolk, in a little country village, and 
scarcely ever comes abroad.” 

“ I know it,” he answered with his sphinx-like smile. 
“ She lives at Great Eyburgh, near Fakenham, is in 
possession of a fair income, and has a maiden aunt as 
companion.” 

“ How did you know that ? ” I demanded in sur- 
prise. 

“ It is our duty to know all who are the enemies of 
England.” 

“ And is she an enemy ? ” 

“ Most certainly,” he replied. 

“I can’t believe it, Kaye!” I cried, aghast, “I 
^8^ 


Kaye is Puzzled 283 

won’t believe it! First you tell me that Yolande 
de Foville is a spy, and now you denounce Edith 
Austin.” 

“ I only tell you the truth,” he answered, leaning 
against the table and folding his arms. 

“ Then as you know so much about her, you proba- 
bly know our relationship,” I said, rather annoyed 
that this ubiquitous man, whose proclivities for fath- 
oming a secret were prodigious, should have watched 
her. 

“ I am quite well aware of it, Mr. Ingram,” he re- 
sponded ; “ and if I might be allowed to advise you, I 
should end it at once. It is dangerous.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because she is playing you false.” 

“ How do you know that ? ” 

“ By the same means that I know she is working 
against us — and against you. If you knew the facts 
they would astound you. Even I, with all my expe- 
rience of the ways of felons and spies, was dumb- 
founded when I learnt the truth.” 

“ But can’t you see that it’s ridiculous to ask me to 
cast her aside without giving me any plain and ample 
reason ? ” 

“ The reason is certainly sufficient,” he replied. 

“ What is it ? ” 

“You visited her at By burgh some months ago, and 
suspected her of having a secret lover. Is not that 
so?” 

“ Extraordinary ! ” I gasped. “ How did you know 
that ? You set your spies upon me ! ” I added an- 

grily- 

“Ho, not upon you,” he said. “She was already 
under observation.” 


Her Majesty’s Minister 


284 

“Why?” 

“ Because of some suspicion that had been aroused 
regarding the Ceuta incident.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” I cried, unable to believe his allega- 
tion. “ What possible connection could she have with 
that ? ” 

“ A rather intimate one, judging from the result of 
our inquiries.” 

“ In what manner ? ” 

“Well, as a secret agent.” 

“ In the employ of whom ? ” 

“ Of France.” 

“ Of France ? ” I echoed. “ Impossible ! ” 

“ My dear Mr. Ingram,” he protested, “ I’m not in 
the habit of misleading you or of making statements 
which I can’t substantiate. I repeat that Miss Edith 
Austin, the lady who has been here with you this 
afternoon, is a French agent.” 

“ I can’t believe it ! ” I gasped, utterly staggered. 
“ Why, she’s a simple, charming English girl, leading 
a quiet life in that sleepy little village, and scarcely 
seeing anybody for weeks together.” 

“ Exactly. I don’t deny that. But as her affection 
for you is prompted by ulterior motives — pray pardon 
me for saying so — you should be forewarned ; and this 
is the more desirable in view of the fact which you 
yourself discovered.” 

“ What fact ? ” 

“ That she has a secret lover.” 

“ Ah ! ” I cried eagerly. “ Tell me, who is he ? ” 

“ An Italian named Bertini — Paolo Bertini.” 

“ Bertini,” I repeated, the name sounding somewhat 
familiar. “ Surely I’ve heard that name before ! ” 

“Of course. You remember, when you were in 


Kaye is Puzzled 285 

Brussels, the bold attempt he made one afternoon in 
your room at the Embassy ? ” 

“Ah! I remember. Why, of course! And is he 
actually the same man ? ” 

In an instant I recalled the face of Edith’s midnight 
visitor, and recollected where I had seen it on a pre- 
vious occasion. 

Kaye’s words brought back to me in that moment 
an incident which showed plainly the dastardly tricks 
of the foreign spies who constantly hover about every 
legation or embassy on the Continent. One after- 
noon, years ago, in Brussels, a well-dressed, gentle- 
manly man called to see His Excellency, and was 
shown into my room. Half an hour before, a Foreign 
Office messenger had arrived from London with de- 
spatches, and I was busily engaged in deciphering 
them when the servant showed in the stranger. The 
latter, who introduced himself as a shipowner of Ant- 
werp, was seated near my table, and was talking to 
me about a complaint he had recently lodged against 
one of our consuls, when suddenly he stopped, turned 
pale, and fell back in a faint. I sprang up, and, 
rushing out of the room, went to get a glass of water. 
Fortunately I had on thin shoes, and the carpet in the 
corridor was so thick that my feet fell noiselessly. 
Judge of my surprise when, on my return, I saw my 
visitor standing in a perfect state of health with one 
of the deciphered despatches pinned against the wall 
and a camera in his hand ! He had actually photo- 
graphed it during my absence. 

Without an instant’s hesitation I sprang upon him 
from behind, wrenched the camera from his hand, 
shouted for help, and held him until some of the serv- 
ants came, when he was taken in charge by the police. 


286 Her Majesty’s Minister 

After a short trial, during which it was proved that 
he was one of the cleverest spies employed by France, 
he was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment for at- 
tempted theft, while the camera, together with the 
photographic films, was returned to us. The latter, 
on being developed, proved extremely interesting and 
very valuable, for not only did we find the photo- 
graph of our own despatch, but those of three other 
secret documents taken in the Italian Embassy in 
Brussels. 

And it was this artful adventurer who had become 
Edith’s lover. She, young and inexperienced, had no 
doubt fallen his victim. She had become enmeshed in 
the net he had spread for her, and was the subordinate 
by means of whom he intended to operate further 
against us. 

“ What you teU me, Kaye, really staggers belief,” 
I said after a pause. “That man is absolutely un- 
scrupulous.” 

“ He’s one of the most ingenious of aU the army of 
secret agents. Indeed, I have a suspicion that he is 
the chief of the French spies operating in England. 
His intimate acquaintance with your friend Miss 
Austin shows conclusively that he is contemplating a 
big coup.” 

Had this matter, I wondered, any connection with 
the gigantic conspiracy of which the Princess had told 
me ? My promise of secrecy given to her prevented 
me from mentioning it to Kaye. Only a few weeks 
ago the Figaro had announced that Her Highness the 
Princess Leonie von Leutenberg had left the Chateau 
de Chantoiseau, and had returned to her mansion in 
the Frieung, in Vienna. She had left France without 
sending me a word. 


Kaye is Puzzled 287 

“ 'What connection had this man Bertini with the 
exposure of the Ceuta negotiations ? ” I inquired- 

“ He got to know of them by some means — how, I 
can’t tell. It is an absolute enigma.” 

“ And that despatch I brought from London, the 
exact contents of which were known a few hours after 
my return here, what of that ? ” 

“ Through him, I feel assured,” answered the clever 
man before me. “ I only returned from London three 
days ago. I went myself to make inquiries.” 

“ And what did you find ? ” 

“ He carries on the business of a jeweller, and has a 
small shop half-way up the Edgware Road, one of 
those cheap Brummagem places that sell earrings and 
brooches for servant-girls. He poses as quite a re- 
spectable shopkeeper, and employs an Englishman as 
manager. The signore, it appears, has many friends 
in London, and when they call to see him they are 
always shown to his private room over the shop. I 
also learnt that your visitor of to-day has called upon 
him there.” 

“ Are you sure ? ” I cried quickly. “ Are yon abso- 
lutely certain of that ? ” 

“ I gave her description and name to the manager, 
who said he recollected her calling there twice about 
three weeks ago. Once his master was not in, but on 
the second occasion she had an interview with him. 
It has more than once struck me as curious that this 
fellow Bertini should have been near you on the day 
of the mysterious theft of the contents of that de- 
spatch. You don’t think that he followed you from 
Ryburgh to London ? ” 

“ I can’t tell. If he did, I had no suspicion of it. 
And besides, not a soul except the Chief could have 


288 Her Majesty’s Minister 

possibly obtained sight of that despatch. I saw it 
written, saw it sealed, and it never left my possession 
for a single instant.” 

“She did not accompany you to London?” he 
asked half suspiciously. 

“ Certainly not,” I said. 

Then I told him all that occurred on that well- 
remembered night, and how I had wandered in the 
early morning over the country-side to the village inn 
where for a moment I saw the Italian. 

“ Then he evidently saw and recognised you there ! ” 
Kaye exclaimed quickly. “ In all probability he fol- 
lowed you to London. That the copy of the despatch 
was transmitted to Paris by him is certain.” 

“ And with regard to the Ceuta incident ? ” 

“In that, I believe, he made Yolande de Foville his 
agent. Undoubtedly it was through her ingenuity 
that Lord Barmouth’s instructions leaked out.” 

“ But how could she possibly have known them ? ” 
I demanded. “ Kemember, you have denounced her 
as a spy, but as yet have given me no proof what- 
ever.” 

“You have sufficient proof in the fact that she fled 
in alarm from Paris, I should think.” 

“ But I understood from you that she was in the 
German service. If so, she would certainly never ally 
herself with Bertini ! ” 

“He might, on the other hand, ally himself with 
her,” remarked the secret agent shrewdly. “ It 
would be distinctly to his advantage if he could ob- 
tain her aid, for by means of her he could ascertain 
various facts which might be considered extremely 
valuable at the Quai d’Orsay.” 

“ It is all astounding ! ” I declared, puzzled. “ Half 


Kaye is Puzzled 289 

the women one knows here seem to be secret agents. 
Paris is just now a veritable hotbed of diplomatic in- 
trigue.” 

“ I quite agree ; and it all tends to show that never, 
in the history of Europe, has there been a blacker out- 
look than to-day.” 

I was silent. What he said was only too true ; and, 
further, the mysterious exposure of the secret in- 
structions contained in the despatch I had brought 
from London had thwarted English diplomacy 
throughout Europe, and tied the hands of all our am- 
bassadors at the various Courts. Signs everywhere 
convinced me that the statement of the Princess was 
actually true, and that we were on the brink of a war 
in which the whole of Europe would be involved. 

Eussia alone remained inactive. It is the fashion 
of journalists who know nothing of the inner life of 
the diplomatic circle, and of alarmist writers who 
build up political theories for themselves, to abuse 
Eussia and Eussian methods. We have been told for 
the past half-century that Eussia means to seize India, 
merely because she has taken steps to colonise her 
enormous Asiatic possessions. Why, a Eussian am- 
bassador in any one of the capitals may hardly pare 
his nails without a sensational article in the Press ap- 
pearing next day. All this is very amusing ; for the 
truth is, Eussia does not intend to be aggressive, nor 
does she want war. Peaceful expansion of her com- 
merce and the development of Siberia are her aims ; 
and if certain journalists insist on exhibiting to us the 
war bogey, it is because they have never been in 
Eussia, and know absolutely nothing of the conduct 
of Muscovite diplomacy. This, it must be confessed, 
is, next to that of the Vatican, the second best in the 


290 Her Majesty’s Minister 

world ; but it is never aggressive ; as every genuine 
diplomatist will hasten to admit. Indeed, if the truth 
were told, there have been times in recent years when 
only the firmness of Kussia and the peaceful policy of 
the Czar have averted war ! 

It is the journalist, nearly always the journalist, 
who creates the European scares ! Because of this 
state of affairs, we at the embassies are compelled to 
be always on our guard against those ubiquitous 
writers who vie with one another in obtaining inter- 
views. 

The present situation was, however, no journalistic 
canard, but a stern and perilous reality. The tension 
of the acute crisis, which had been increasing ever 
since the Ceuta incident, was terrible. Everywhere 
in diplomacy there was a spirit of reserve, which 
showed that the amity of nations was strained to its 
utmost limit. War might be declared upon England 
at any moment. 


CHAPTER XXX 


KNIGHTS OF INDUSTRY 

After Kaye had left, I sat for a long time ponder- 
ing over his words. The assertion that Edith was a 
spy helping Paolo Bertini staggered me. At first I 
could not believe it, but what he had told me left no 
room -for doubt. I recalled the man’s face as he had 
passed down the inn passage and out into the village 
street, and with the clue that Kaye had furnished 
recognised him. Without doubt all that the chief of 
the secret service had told me was true, for had not 
Edith herself refused to disclose the man’s name or 
the character of their friendship ? Had she not at the 
same time acknowledged that he held power over her, 
invisible but complete, and that the betrayal of her 
secret would mean her ruin — perhaps even her death ? 

I saw it all now, as I sat deep in doubt and perplex- 
ity. Edith was staying at the Grand. Should I call 
upon her aunt, and dine with them ? My first impulse 
was to do this, for I felt anxious to obtain from her 
some further proof of her actual association with this 
adventurer; but, on reflection, I saw that such a 
course was not commendable, inasmuch as by calling 
I should perhaps arouse Aunt Hetty’s suspicion that 
her niece had visited me. Therefore, I resolved to 
send a petit bleu to Miss Foskett, stating that I had 
seen her name in the visitors’ list and hoped to do my- 
self the pleasure of calling on the following day after 
291 


292 Her Majesty’s Minister 

dejeuner. This formality, which I at once proceeded 
to put in operation, would, I knew, greatly please the 
punctilious old spinster. 

That evening I dined at the Brasserie Rationale, in 
the Avenue de I’Op^ra, an establishment German in 
style, but one widely patronised of late. Among 
other things, it is famous for its wonderful hors 
d’oeuvres; the wines, too, are always excellent and 
the cuisine not expensive. Below is a beer-hall, al- 
ways crowded during afternoon and evening; but 
above, in a salon decorated in the ancient German 
style, one finds a crowd of gaily dressed diners, Pari- 
sian in all respects. The foreign tourist happily never 
goes there, for he patronises the Gazal, a little farther 
along the avenue, where the dinner is prix-fixe, “ two 
francs fifty, vin compris.” 

At the tables sat several persons whom I knew, for 
it chanced to be a premiere at the Opera, and all Paris 
Avas dining in the vicinity. 

Mariani, a well-known journalist on the staff of the 
Figaro^ lounged in and took a seat with me. He was 
a thin-faced, middle-aged man of typical Parisian ap- 
pearance. He had only that afternoon returned from 
Brussels, and presently, when we began to speak of 
the political situation, he paused with his Avine-glass 
in his hand, saying, in that precise manner Avhich was 
his chief characteristic : 

“The Patrie^ the Libre Parole^ the Gaulois^ the 
Petit Journal^ and the Autorite repeat that Avar Avith 
England is inevitable ; that it is always there, ready 
to break out at any hour of any day. Their object is 
clear : it is revenge for the High Court trials. They 
have realised that, despite all its efforts, they cannot 
overthrow the Kepublic in times of peace. They 


Knights of Industry 293 

must, then, have war. And these mis6rables are pre- 
paring it in order to overthrow the Eepublic! They 
prepare war with England not only because they hate 
England, as a free country, but because they know 
that war with England would be a naval Sedan. Un- 
less the Eepublicans abandon their blindness and their 
torpor, they will let the Eepublic and France be lost 
by means of these miserables.” 

I agreed with him, but breathed a trifle more freely, 
for the Figaro was the organ of the French Govern- 
ment, and he was always well-informed. ISTeverthe- 
less, it appeared that he had no idea of the exact 
direction of the political wind. 

Near midnight, having attended a reception given 
by a smart Englishwoman, the wife of a peer resident 
in Paris, I was strolling along the Avenue de Neuilly 
on my way home. The night was cold but bright, 
and there were many people still about. A garde-de- 
ville, in his short cape, stood like a statue on the kerb 
at the Porte Maillott ; the electric globes illuminated 
the Eond Point brightly, and a couple of harmless 
roysterers of the lower class lurched past me, singing 
the latest patriotic jingle of the cafes, a song inspired 
by the prevalent Anglophobia in Paris. They were 
singing the last verse : 

Sous les Eclats de la foudre 
On vit tomber, noir de poudre, 

Le dernier de ces vaillants, 

II cria : Vive la France ! 

Et I’echo r^pondit : France ! . . . 

En avant ! . . . Serrez vos rangs ! . . . 

I paused for a moment to glance at them. Truly 
the public spirit in Paris was everywhere anti-English. 
Fashoda had never been forgotten, and out of our 


294 Majesty's Minister 

difficulties with the Transvaal much capital was being 
made by the rabid organs of the Press. 

Then I walked on until, at the corner of the Avenue 
de la Grande Armee and the Eue des Acacias, I sud- 
denly became aware of two men walking slowly in 
front of me in earnest conversation. They were 
speaking in Italian, a language which I knew well, 
and it was a sentence I overheard which attracted my 
attention and caused me to glance at them. 

Both were shabbily attired, and presented the signs 
of those hungry night-birds who creep forth at set of 
sun and slink about the boulevards. One wore a 
grey, soft felt hat stuck a trifle askew, as if its owner 
aimed at a rakish appearance, while the other wore a 
crumpled silk hat with a flat brim, the headgear typic- 
ally Parisian. 

Together, walking arm-in-arm, absorbed in their 
conversation, they passed beneath the big electric 
lamp which lit the street-refuge, and as the light fell 
upon them I drew back quickly in order to escape ob- 
servation. 

Those words in Italian had attracted me, and I now 
saw in front of me the two men whom I most desired 
to meet. The man who wore the high silk hat was 
none other than Rodolphe Wolf, while the other was 
that ingenious adventurer whom I had discovered at 
Ryburgh, Paolo Bertini. 

They strolled along in a casual manner, as though 
well aware that out of doors they could talk freely. 
The fact that they spoke in Italian proved their desire 
to escape eavesdroppers. At the moment of recogni- 
tion I had drawn back and allowed them to advance 
some distance in front ; then, lounging along slowly, 
I followed them across the Avenue des Termes, up 


295 


Knights of Industry 

the narrow Eue Poncelet, and, traversing the Avenue 
Wagram, passed through a number of small streets 
until they suddenly halted before a small and unin- 
viting-looking little cafe in the Eue Legendre, a few 
doors from the Mairie of Batignolles. 

I was surprised to discover that Wolf was actually 
in Paris, while the presence of Bertini seemed to bear 
out all that Kaye had told me earlier in the evening. 
During the walk the Italian had pulled from his pocket 
a paper, which he handed to his companion, who stood 
for a moment beneath a street lamp reading it. Then 
he laughed lightly, folded it, and handed it back with 
an air of satisfaction. As neither of the interesting 
pair had once turned back, I had followed them en- 
tirely unnoticed. 

Fortunately for me I was wearing a^new overcoat, 
the astrakhan collar of which was turned up, the wind 
being chilly, so that my features were half-concealed. 
But the shabby appearance of the pair was in itself 
suspicious. Wolf had always been something of a 
fop, and it was scarcely possible that if he were a 
secret agent he could have fallen upon evil days. 

I glanced at their boots. Those worn by Bertini 
were good ones of russet leather, while those of his 
companion were a smart pair of “ patents.” This fact 
told me that for some unknown reason they had as- 
sumed the garb of loungers rapidly, and had not had 
time to change their boots. They had been, or were 
going, to some place where to be dressed well would 
arouse undue attention. That seemed certain. 

I was standing back in the shadow of a doorway 
watching them, when suddenly, after some consulta- 
tion, as it seemed, they entered the little cafe. 

It w^§ a frowsy, dirty place, at the window of which 


296 Her Majesty’s Minister 

hung faded red blinds, much stained and fly-blown. 
From where I stood I could see that the ceiling, once 
white, was brown and discoloured by the gas, and the 
gilt decorations blackened and smoke-begrimed. It 
was called the Cafe de fil’toile. 

Dare I enter and risk detection ? 

FTow that I had discovered them I intended to 
watch and find out where they were staying, so that 
Kaye and his staff might keep them under observa- 
tion. The reason for their presence in Paris was 
without doubt a sinister one. Of all the men in the 
whole world who were my enemies the man Wolf was 
the bitterest; and next to him was this dark-faced 
Italian, with whom he had been walking so confiden- 
tially arm-in-arm. 

As I stood in hesitation, an ill-dressed, unkempt fellow 
reeled out of the cafe, singing in a husky voice a vaga- 
bond song. His hat was askew, and he beat time 
with his finger : 

Qu’ §a peut vous faire o\i qu’ nous aliens? 

^a vous r’garde pas, que j’ suppose. 

D’abord, 3 ’aliens od qu’ nous voulons . . . 

. . . Od qu’ vous voulez . . . e’est la mem’ chose. 

Vous 4 tes d’ ceux qu’ont des etats? 

Ben! qu6 qu’ vous voulez qu’ 5a nous foute? 

Des 6tats! . . . j’en connaissons pas . . . 

Nous, not’ metier, e’est d’marcher su’ la route. 


I strolled past the place and peered inside. A quick 
scrutiny sufficed to show that the two men were not 
visible ; therefore, I concluded that they were at a 
table close behind the door. Thrice I passed and re- 
passed, until I became convinced of the fact. The red 
blinds were drawn, and, although the door was half 
open, I could not, from the pavement, see who was» 


Knights of Industry 297 

sitting at the table behind it. In Paris, however, it is 
often a trick of those who lounge in cafes and desire 
to pass unnoticed to sit close behind the door with 
their backs to it, thus occupying a position which does 
not in the least expose them to passers-by. 

Presently, emboldened by the fact that the little 
place seemed sleepy and half-deserted, I lit a cigarette, 
and, slipping into the doorway, stood with my ears 
open to catch every sound. Yes, they were there, as 
I had supposed. I heard words in Italian spoken 
rather low and confidentially. I distinctly heard my 
own name mentioned, together with that of the Prin- 
cess von Leutenberg. Wolf it was who spoke of her 
sneeringly. 

“ I’ve seen her of late in Vienna,” he laughed. “ Ke- 
tirement at Kudolstadt did not suit her.” 

“ Is there any truth in what is said regarding the 
reason of her stay at Chantoiseau ? ” 

“ Certainly,” replied Wolf. 

“ Serious for her — eh ? ” remarked his companion. 

“Very. She will be taught a lesson,” was the 
response. 

“And at the British Embassy, what do they 
know ? ” asked Bertini. 

“ They are, as usual, utterly unsuspecting, and will 
remain so until the mine explodes. We have laid it 
cleverly this time, and it cannot fail.” 

“ I wonder whether the Princess told Ingram any- 
thing while he was a guest at Chantoiseau ? ” asked 
Bertini. 

“ She dare not. But what of the English girl ? It 
is said she loves him.” 

“ Ko,” replied the Italian quickly, “ I have her com- 
pletely in my power. She cannot utter a word.” 


298 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ She’s a useful agent, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes, at times. A girl of her character and appear- 
ance is never suspected.” 

“And of Yolande? She was in London a month 
ago assisting me. Where is she now ? ” 

“ In Rome, I think ; but I am not certain,” was the 
response. “ Some little time ago I met Lord Bar- 
mouth’s daughter, with a view to bringing them to- 
gether as friends, for by so doing I saw that we might 
gain some valuable information,” Wolf said. “The 
project, however, unfortunately failed, because of 
Ingram.” 

“ May an accident occur to him ! ” exclaimed Bertini, 
using an Italian oath. “ He stands in our way at all 
times. I have not forgotten how cleverly he tricked 
me in Brussels and obtained the negatives of half a 
dozen documents from other embassies.” 

“ He is more dangerous to our plans than Kaye and 
the whole British secret service put together,” Wolf 
remarked. I could hear that, by way of emphasis, he 
struck the table heavily as he spoke these words. “ If 
we could only contrive to suppress him ! ” 

“ Ah, but how ? ” 

A silence fell between the pair. 

“ In some countries,” remarked Wolf in a low voice, 
“ he would die suddenly. Here, in Paris, it would be 
dangerous.” 

These men were actually plotting to take my life ; I 
stood there motionless, my ears strained to catch every 
word, my feet rooted to the spot. 

“ Why so dangerous ? ” asked the Italian. 

“ Because the English girl might betray us, or, fail- 
ing her, there is the Princess.” 

“ The Princess ! Bah ! ” ejaculated Bertini. “ She 


Knights of Industry 299 

would never utter a syllable. She has too much to 
gain by silence.” 

“ But the girl Austin ? What of her ? ’ 

“ I admit that she might instantly give us away if 
one of these days her lover was found mysteriously 
dead. Nevertheless, if the situation becomes acute, 
well, we must resort to a desperate remedy, that’s 
all.” 

I smiled within myself. Happily I had overheard 
this extremely interesting conversation, and should 
now be on my guard against both spies and assassins. 
It was lucky for me that they feared Edith ; otherwise 
murder would have been a mere nothing to them. 
That they were not discussing an impossibility I well 
knew, for during my career as a diplomatist I had 
known of at least half a dozen cases where persons 
had been found dead under mysterious circumstances ; 
and also that the crime of murder had actually been 
brought home to the members of the secret service of 
the various Powers. They are unscrupulous gentle- 
men, these spies, and hesitate at nothing in their 
feverish desire to do the bidding of their masters and 
obtain the rewards so temptingly offered to them. 

The men dropped their voices so low that for a few 
minutes I could distinguish nothing, while another 
vulgar-looking, ruffianly fellow opened the door sud- 
denly and emerged. As long as I heard their voices 
in consultation I felt secure from discovery. I deter- 
mined to remain there in the doorway calmly smoking, 
as though awaiting the arrival of a friend. 

“And how is everything at Feltham?” I heard 
AYolf inquire presently. 

“ All works splendidly. Everything is complete.” 

To what did they refer ? I wondered. Where was 


300 Her Majesty’s Minister 

Feltham ? and what were the arrangements which 
worked so satisfactorily ? 

Again the Italian spoke, laughing low and con- 
tentedly, but I could not catch what he said, for my 
attention at that moment was distracted by the 
approach of a fiacre, which pulled up before the door 
of the cafe. The hood was up, and within the vehicle 
I saw the figure of a woman, who at once descended, 
and, as I moved into the shadow, walked straight into 
the place with the air of one who had entered there 
before. She was well dressed in a dark tailor-made 
gown, and wore a close-fitting hat with a veil. She 
passed me by within a few feet, but, standing as I was 
in the deep shadow beyond the lamps of the cab, 
which, no doubt, dazzled her, she did not recognise 
me. But no second glance was necessary to tell me 
that the woman who had come there at midnight to 
meet the two spies was their associate and assistant, 
Edith Austin. 


CHAPTEE XXXI 


THE RED ASS 

When the woman who had declared her love for 
me had entered the uninviting-looking place I slipped 
back to my old position, but was prevented from 
listening too openly for fear of awakening the curi- 
osity of the cocher who was awaiting her. I heard 
them greet her in English ; then both rose, and all 
three passed through the cafe to a room beyond, 
apparently the apartment of the proprietor. Hence I 
was unable to discover the reason of her visit there. 

As no purpose could be served by remaining longer 
in the doorway, I lit another cigarette with an ap- 
pearance of carelessness and strolled away down the 
narrow street as far as the Avenue de Clichy, return- 
ing presently on the opposite side of the roadway, 
and waiting in patience for the conspirators to leave 
the cafe. 

I congratulated myself upon my good-fortune in not 
being detected, and was resolved to watch further the 
doings of the spies. I only wished that Kaye or Grew 
were with me, in order to follow up at once the clue I 
had thus obtained. 

The word “ Feltham ” was to me extremely puzzling. 
That chance remark doubtless referred to a matter 
brimming over with interest. What were the “ar- 
rangements ” that worked so well and were so com- 
plete ? 

Truly, the conspiracy of the Powers against Great 
301 


302 Her Majesty’s Minister 

Britain, alleged by Leonie, was a gigantic one. Each 
hour brought home to me more forcibly the terrible 
truth that we were living upon the very edge of a 
volcano, whose eruption might be expected at any 
moment. 

For fully half an hour I strolled up and down, 
always keeping a careful watch upon the cafe with the 
faded blinds, until suddenly Edith emerged, followed 
by her two companions. Bertini handed her into her 
cab, and I heard him order the cocher to drive to the 
Grand Hotel. Then, as they stood on the kerb, with 
their hats in their hands, she bowed and was driven 
rapidly off, while they turned and walked together in 
the opposite direction, passing down the avenue to the 
Boulevard de Clichy, and thence along to the Place 
Blanche, past that paradise of the British tourist, the 
Moulin Kouge. 

The four illuminated arms of the Ked Windmill 
were still revolving, and the night-birds of Paris in 
their gay plumage were entering and leaving, for the 
so-called “ life ” at that haunt of Terpsichore modern- 
ised and debased does not begin until long after mid- 
night. I never glance in at those open doors without 
sighing for my compatriots ; and usually fall to reflect- 
ing upon the reason why so many English fathers of 
families, who at home would not dream of going to a 
music-hall, so frequently drift there with their wives, 
and often with their daughters. It is a curious 
feature of Paris life, absurdly artificial, and almost 
entirely supported by my unthinking compatriots, 
who go there because to have been there is synony- 
mous with having seen the gay life of the French 
capital. Alas ! that the British tourist is so gullible, 
for the students who dance there in velvet berets and 


The Red Ass 


303 

paint-besmirched coats are no students at all, while 
the pretty grisette, his companion, is merely a dancing- 
girl, in a befitting frock, paid by the management to 
pose as a mock Bohemienne. The Moulin Rouge is 
no more the centre of gay Paris than is Maskelyne’s 
entertainment the centre of gay London. 

Presently, having gained the Rue de Maubeuge, the 
spies entered that .Bohemian cafe, where a charming 
air of chez soi and good-fellowship always pervades — 
the Cafe of the Red Ass. It has a small and unas- 
suming front, except that the windows are profusely 
decorated with painted flowers and figures, while a 
red ass looks down from over the narrow door. It is 
furnished more like an old curiosity-shop than a cafe, 
and has its particular clientele of Bohemians, who 
come to puff their long pipes, that hang in racks, and 
recount their hopes, aspirations, achievements and fail- 
ures, when not shouting some rollicking chorus. The 
place was filled with litterateurs of the Quarter, and 
a celebration was in progress, one of their number 
having succeeded in finding a publisher for a volume 
of his poetry. 

Hence I was enabled to follow the pair unnoticed. 
They had, I found, seated themselves at a table with 
two rather small, ferret-eyed men, who had apparently 
been awaiting them. Then all four entered into an 
earnest discussion over their bocks, while I sat on the 
opposite side of the place, pretending to be interested 
in the Soir, but watching them as a cat a mouse. 

The nature of their conversation was manifestly 
secret, for all four looked round furtively from time 
to time, as though suspicious lest some one should over- 
hear. Wolf was relating some fact which apparently 
created a great impression upon the men whom he and 


304 Her Majesty’s Minister 

Bertini had met. Whatever it was he told them, it 
created evident surprise. 

Bertini rolled a cigarette in silence, lit it slowly, and 
sat back, blowing clouds of smoke into the air. Loud 
chatter and laughter and the rattle of saucers upon the 
tables sounded everywhere, mingled with the constant 
click of shuffled dominoes and the shouts of the rush- 
ing waiters calling their orders. The Bed Ass always 
awakens from its lethargy at midnight, just as do the 
Cafe Americain and the showy establishments on the 
Boulevard des Italiens. 

The short, middle-aged Frenchman who had been 
speaking pulled a blue paper from his pocket, and gave 
it to Wolf for examination. From its folding and size 
I perceived that it was a telegram. All this time the 
attitude of the Italian was that of a man who wished 
to affect an air of supreme carelessness. 

More bocks were ordered, pen and paper were 
brought by the waiter, and a reply to the telegraphic 
message was written by the Frenchman, not, however, 
without some discussion, in which Bertini took part. 
The actions of these men showed that some further 
conspiracy was in progress, but what it was I was 
naturally unable to guess. I only knew that the two 
men whom I had followed were the most desperate, 
ingenious, and unscrupulous spies in Europe. 

After nearly an hour, during which time I exhausted 
all the periodical literature provided by the manage- 
ment of the establishment, all four rose and Went out. 
The two Frenchmen made their adieux, and the pair 
whose movements had so interested me walked slowly 
down to the Place de I’Opera until they gained the 
narrow Kue des Petits Champs, a thoroughfare that 
intersects the Bue de la Paix and the Avenue de 


The Red Ass 


305 

rOpera. At the end of this, not far from the Palais 
Royal, they turned suddenly into a dark alley, which 
led into a large courtyard, in which I soon discovered 
a small, fifth-rate hotel, evidently their temporary 
quarters. 

I waited in the vicinity for nearly half an hour, until 
the concierge put out the lights and bolted the door ; 
then I returned to the avenue, hailed a fiacre, and 
drove home just as the clocks were chiming three. 

My vigil had been a long and tedious one, and when 
I entered my rooms I sank into a chair utterly worn 
out. I had, however, learnt several facts of supreme 
interest, not the least being the discovery of Wolf’s 
headquarters. I got my man to ring up Kaye on the 
telephone, and presently gave him the information, 
suggesting that he should send one of his assistants to 
the Rue des Petits Champs to keep the spies under 
observation. 

My statement filled him with feverish activity, for 
within half an hour he was seated with me in my 
room, and I was explaining all that had come to pass. 

“ Excellent ! ” he exclaimed. “ They will not evade 
us now we know where they are. There is something 
fresh in the wind, without a doubt. We must discover 
what it is.” 

Then he went to the telephone, rang up one of his 
assistants who lived out at Passy, and gave him some 
instructions, together with the address of the obscure 
hotel to which I had followed the pair of rogues. 

Far into the night we sat discussing the situation. 
As far as he knew, the Ceuta negotiations were at a 
standstill. All that was known in Madrid was that 
the Spanish Government had offered to sell that 
strategic position to France, and that the latter had 


306 Her Majesty’s Minister 

accepted. Beyond this we had no further information, 
save that a complete tracing of the plans for the for- 
tification of the place, which had been prepared in the 
French War Office, had found its way into our Em- 
bassy, where, as may be imagined, it had a cordial 
welcome. It had been purchased by Kaye from one 
of the draughtsmen, and showed plainly with what 
thoroughness it was proposed to fortify the place in 
opposition to our defences at Gibraltar. With its usual 
ingenuity the French Government, through its mouth- 
piece, the Figaro^ had inspired an article alleging that 
Ceuta was about to be bought by Kussia, in order, of 
course, to create alarm in England, where the period- 
ical Kussian bogey would at once be brought forward. 
But to us at the Embassy, who knew the truth, the 
Figaro article proved farcical reading. 

During the past two or three days cipher tele- 
graphic despatches had been constantly exchanged 
between the Quai d’Orsay and the various European 
embassies, and there had been many other signs of 
unusual diplomatic activity on the part of the Ee- 
public. 

At last the chief of the secret service drained his 
glass, and, rising, left me to snatch a couple of hours’ 
sleep before my next day’s duties at the Embassy. 

When I arose next morning I had occasion to go to 
the small writing-table in my sitting-room to obtain 
some note-paper, but was surprised to find the contents 
of the drawer in great disorder, as though they had 
been hastily overturned. 

I called my man and questioned him, but he de- 
clared he knew nothing of it and that no one had 
entered my room. I frequently left the key in the 
drawer, as I had done when last I unlocked it. 


The Red Ass 


307 

Whoever had searched that drawer had evidently 
looked for some private papers. I at once hastily set 
to work to rearrange them and find out whether any 
were missing. 

Before five minutes had passed the truth became 
plain. A sealed envelope, in which I had placed the 
letter the Princess had written me offering her secret 
in exchange for my love, had been stolen. In an 
instant it flashed upon me that I had spoken of it to 
her as being destroyed. But it had now passed into 
the hands of our enemies ! 

Dark and mysterious are the ways of modern di- 
plomacy as practised in the capitals of Europe, but 
this dastardly theft was not far from being the most 
daring and mysterious of any I had known. 

Carefully I examined each of the papers. As far 
as I could discover, the only one missing was the 
letter of the Princess. Who could have stolen it? 
The only stranger who had entered the room was 
Edith, and I remembered that on the previous after- 
noon she had waited there alone before my arrival. 

It was a strange thought, but it impressed itself 
upon me as a key to the truth. Surely she had not 
visited me for the sole purpose of stealing the letter 
which Leonie had sent to my room on that well- 
remembered night at Chantoiseau ? I could not 
believe her capable of such duplicity, unless perchance 
it were prompted by jealousy. She might have heard 
of our acquaintance through one or other of those 
spies, her associates, and forthwith resolved on re- 
venge. In any case the loss of the letter placed the 
Princess in an exceedingly serious position, and com- 
promised her honour. 

When I entered my room at the Embassy I found 


3o 8 Her Majesty’s Minister 

Lord Barmouth and Sibyl together. She was per- 
suading him to allow her to accept an invitation to 
visit some relatives in the north of England, for she 
was tired of Paris, she declared. When I entered he 
dismissed her, sajdng that he wished to talk with me 
privately. 

“ Ingram, something extremely serious is in the 
wind,” he said, when the door had closed and we were 
alone. His face was pale and showed traces of sleep- 
lessness. “I was at de Wolkenstein’s reception last 
night, and overheard a conversation between Berch- 
told and de Hindenburg. There is a conspiracy 
against us ! ” 

‘‘ In what manner ? ” I asked, surprised that he 
should have become aware of it. { 

“ The intercepting of those secret instructions 
which you brought from London some months ago 
is part of it ; the Ceuta affair is another portion ; 
and it appears, as far as I can gather, that the 
Powers, with the exception of Kussia and Italy, have 
formed a gigantic plot against us to provoke Avar.” 

“ To provoke war ! ” I echoed. “ What details do 
you knoAV ? ” 

“Olsoufieff, who, as you know, is my personal 
friend, dropped a hint which we may take as a 
warning. He told me he had reason to believe 
that the secret service of both France and Ger- 
many had of late made several successful coups 
against us, and that the interests of those two 
nations had been considerably promoted thereby.” 

He told you nothing further ? ” 

“He could not be more explicit,” replied His 
Excellency. “Eussia, who, according to the Press, 
is our hereditary enemy, is in reality our friend. 


The Red Ass 


309 

If every monarch loved unity and concord as well 
as the Czar, the peace of Europe would to-morrow 
be assured. Yet diplomatic usages prevented Olsou- 
fieff from betraying his confreres in their diplomacy, 
even though he is my intimate friend.” 

“And how are we to act?” I asked. “The theft 
of the contents of that despatch was certainly most 
astonishing. How it was accomplished is an inscruta- 
ble mystery.” 

“ Sibyl has been endeavouring to assist us,” an- 
swered the Ambassador. “ She, too, was at the 
reception last night, and kept eyes and ears open. 
She heard that both Wolf and that scoundrel Bertini 
are in Paris in company. Surely that bodes no good ! ” 

“I was watching the pair until nearly three o’clock 
this morning,” I explained. “ At present Kaye has the 
matter in hand ; ” and then I proceeded to explain all 
the occurrences of the previous night and those that 
befel in the early hours of the morning. I told him 
of Edith, of my visit to her at Ryburgh, of her call 
upon me, and of my subsequent discovery of her at 
that low cafe near the station of Batignolles. 

“ Extraordinary ! ” he exclaimed in wonder, when 
I had finished. “ Then this woman who declared 
that she loved you is, although an English girl living 
in a rural Norfolk village, actually a French spy? 
The ramifications of the secret service of our enemies 
are indeed amazing. The plot which has for its ob- 
ject the downfall of England is the most gigantic and 
at the same time the most ingenious and carefully 
planned of any known in modern history. Save for 
the little rift in the veil of secrecy, through which 
we have fortunately detected the danger, it is abso- 
lutely perfect.” 


CHAPTEK XXXII 


BETRAYAL 

Winter came, grey, cold, and cheerless, in Paris. 
The war that had broken out in the Transvaal dragged 
on, and the European outlook grew daily darker and 
more lowering. 

Occasionally I had received letters from Edith in 
Bordighera, telling me how pleasant life was there 
amid the sunshine and the palms after the leafless 
dreariness of an English winter. She, however, never 
once mentioned the man Bertini. Her letters were 
still affectionate, despite the fact that my replies were 
very cold and distant. 

I entertained a distinct suspicion that she it was 
who had stolen the compromising letter of the Prin- 
cess. In addition to this, her midnight visit to that 
pair of adventurers in the cafe had incensed me. For 
this reason her letters to me were unwelcome, and I 
answered them in quite an indifferent spirit. There 
was a wound in my heart that never could be healed. 
Edith Austin, it was proved, was the associate of two 
of the most unscrupulous adventurers in Europe. 

In Paris matters were extremely critical. Lord 
Barmouth had been to Downing Street to have an in- 
terview with the Marquess, the latter refusing further 
to trust his secret instructions to any messenger ; yet 
though not a word had been written and though the 
interview had taken place in the Foreign Secretary’s 
310 


Betrayal 311 

private room, where the doors are double, thus pre- 
venting any sound from reaching the corridor, the 
exact nature of His Excellency’s instructions was ac- 
tually known at the Quai d’Orsay. The thing was 
incomprehensible ; it rendered our diplomacy utterly 
powerless, forewarning the French of our policy and 
giving them a weapon to use against us. The mys- 
tery was impenetrable. Yet the truth was only too 
evident. Within four days of the interview taking 
place in London, Kaye brought to the Embassy a 
copy of a cipher telegram handed in at the Waterloo 
Station Telegraph-office, and received by the French 
Foreign Office, giving practically every detail of the 
verbal instructions received by the Ambassador. 
The way in which the truth had leaked out staggered 
belief. 

The Marquess, on receiving the despatch from our 
Embassy, was at first disinclined to believe that such 
a thing could be possible, but I myself next day car- 
ried the copy of the spy’s telegram to London and 
placed it in his hands. It was in mid-February, and 
the Channel passage had been about as bad as it pos- 
sibly could be. He read the telegram with its deci- 
pher, and stood utterly bewildered. 

“Absolutely nothing seems safe from the scoun- 
drels ! ” he cried angrily. “ How they have obtained 
this is a complete mystery. Ho one was present, for 
I myself took every precaution. While this goes on 
we are powerless — utterly powerless. In order to 
render our diplomacy abortive the French are spread- 
ing the secret of our policy broadcast in every capital. 
The thing is monstrous, and can only be done with 
the object of creating war.” 

“ Every negotiation which England has had with 


312 Her Majesty’s Minister 

the Transvaal since the commencement of the war is 
known at the Quai d’Orsay, as you will have noticed 
from the reports we have sent from the Embassy,” I 
said. “ Indeed, the news of the declaration of war 
by President Kruger was known to the French Gov- 
ernment within half an hour of its receipt by our 
Colonial Office.” 

“ It may have been sent to Paris direct from Pre- 
toria,” answered the great statesman, frowning in his 
perplexity. 

“ But our reply was known in Paris hours before it 
was officially issued. The decision of our Cabinet 
was known at the Quai d’Orsay before the meeting 
actually broke up,” I remarked. 

“ I know, Ingram — I know,” answered the Marquess. 
“ Unfortunately for us, this was indeed the case. The 
mystery of how they obtain their intelligence is ab- 
solutely inscrutable.” 

We sat together for a long time in deep discussion. 
From his agitated manner and the unusual greyness 
of his fine, intelligent face, I knew that this man, 
upon whose shoulders rested the responsibility for 
England’s security at the most critical moment when 
the greater part of her Army was in South Africa., 
was in fear of some terrible disaster. That England, 
with her land forces in the Transvaal, was vulnerable 
was known not only to every diplomatist, but also to 
the man in the street in every foreign capital. Kow 
that Lord Barmouth had discovered the existence of 
the great plot against us, of which the defiant attitude 
of the Transvaal was part, active inquiries had been 
made all over the Continent to discover its character, 
and it had been ascertained that it was the inten- 
tion of certain Powers to intervene in favour of the 


Betrayal 313 

Boers, and thus cause a general rupture with Great 
Britain. 

The plans had been carefully laid. The Boers, 
backed by France, Austria, and Germany, had fought 
well, but British pertinacity and pluck, under Lord 
Koberts, had won their way to the relief of Lady- 
smith and the occupation of Bloemfontein. With 
Joubert dead, with Cronje captured at Paardeberg, the 
Majuba stigma had been wiped out. Besides, Pretoria 
had been occupied. Now the Continental Powers, 
having planned to league themselves against us, were 
awaiting their opportunity to intervene, cause a rup- 
ture, and declare war against us on the slightest pre- 
text. 

It was this matter that we were discussing. 

“ The plan has been fostered for two years past,” 
the Marquess declared. “ The hostility of the French 
Press was part of the programme; the disgusting 
caricatures in the Rive inflamed the Anglophobes 
against us, and this — ” and he took up a copy of 
the Monde Illustre, consisting wholly of a lurid fore- 
cast of the “ Downfall .of England ” profusely illus- 
trated, — “this, coming at such a moment, is more 
than mischievous. It will fan the too vigorous flames 
of French detestation of England, and increase the 
craving in France for war. I have read it, and it is 
apparently written to show how vulnerable our 
country is at this moment. I am not one who fears 
the downfall of our country ; but should a war un- 
happily result, it would be a great calamity for Eu- 
rope, and for France and the Eepublic most of all.” 

“ It is an odd thing,” I remarked, “ that just as this 
pleasing brochure appears France should decide to 
mobilise four army corps in the coming autumn. All 


314 Her Majesty’s Minister 

these corps are to be assembled in the northwest, 
close to the sea, and ready for a move if an opportunity 
comes. This is, I grant, not the first time that such a 
step has been taken, but it certainly requires to be 
met by ample precaution.” 

“Yes,” he answered gravely, beating a tattoo upon 
his writing-pad with his quill. “ It is not pleasant to 
reflect that, owing to the savings on the shipbuilding 
vote during the past three years, our Navy is not in a 
condition to warrant a feeling of security. Battle- 
ships and destroyers are hopelessly in arrears. An 
addition to our destroyer fleet — the best preventive of 
invasion — should be made without delay, as a simple 
precaution ; for the risks are great with our Army 
absent, as it will still be in August, in South Africa.” 

“ In Paris,” I said, “ we have been asked by the 
representatives of the Powers to believe that we have 
nothing to fear from a deliberate war policy on the 
part of the Governments of Germany, France, and 
Austria. They are all engaged in enterprises of far- 
reaching importance, which would be injured almost 
beyond recovery by war. Germany, de Hindenburg 
has pointed out, has entered with an unparalleled de- 
gree of enthusiasm into the struggle for industrial 
supremacy, with America and Great Britain as her 
only dangerous rivals.” 

“ To blind us to the truth,” observed the great Min- 
ister, smiling. ‘‘ The Libre Parole inadvertently ex- 
posed the French secret when two months ago it de- 
clared that the bogey of British power had been 
flaunted in the face of the civilised world once too 
often, and a small but resolute nation had accepted 
the challenge. England, that outspoken sheet de- 
clared, has claimed to be predominant everywhere. 


Betrayal 31^; 

The nations are tired of her pretensions, it insisted, 
and as soon as diplomacy has been forced to act in ac- 
cordance with public opinion, there will be an end to 
this tyranny of the seas. The French forget,” he 
added, “ that it is not always safe to try to take ad- 
vantage of a nation hardened by recent warfare. A 
country is sometimes more remarkable for military 
power at the end than at the beginning of a cam- 
paign.” 

“ It appears to me,” I remarked, “ that Kruger de- 
mands peace upon impossible conditions, in order to 
be able to say that England has refused to discuss 
peace, that she is quite intractable, and that she is, 
therefore, responsible for the bloodshed which will 
continue.” 

“ Most certainly Kruger’s peace proposals are part 
of the Continental plot. He knows well enough how 
to play upon human simplicity and at the same time to 
assist his friends,” observed the great statesman who 
controlled England’s destinies. “ But,” he urged, “ we 
must do one thing, Ingram. We must stop our policy 
leaking out as it does. This has already nearly landed 
us into war over the Ceuta incident, and must be a 
constant menace to us. Kaye, who was over a few 
days ago, told me that you had discovered certain per- 
sons who were evidently spies. What do you know 
of them ? ” 

I told him all that I had discovered, omitting of 
course all reference to Edith and my love for her, as 
well as the fact that the Princess had offered me details 
of the plot upon terms which I had been unable to 
accept. 

“ Strive to keep them well under observation and 
discover the source of their information,” he said. 


316 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ By doing this you will in a great measure frustrate 
the plans of our enemies, and afterwards our diplomacy 
can checkmate them. But while all our intentions are 
known our diplomacy must of necessity be rendered 
futile. You know these people, Ingram, and with you 
rests a very great responsibility.” 

“I have all along striven to do my duty,” I an- 
swered. “ I have made effort after effort in order to 
obtain the truth, but up to the present all has been in 
vain.” 

“Continue,” he urged, looking at me with those 
grave, serious eyes, beneath the calm gaze of which 
many a foreign diplomatist at the Court of St. James 
had trembled. “ By perseverance and with the help 
of the secret service you may one day be successful. 
Then we will unite all the peaceful forces of England 
in order to break up this dastardly conspiracy. It 
shall be done ! ” he cried angrily, striking the table 
with his clenched fist. “ My country shall never fall 
a victim to this cunningly devised plot of Messieurs 
les Anglophobes — never ! ” 

The very thought had set fire to his indignation. 
He rose, and paced the room with a flush upon his 
ashen cheeks. 

“I trust you, Ingram, just as I have always trusted 
you in the past,” he said, turning suddenly on his heel 
towards me. “You have a clever and trustworthy 
chief in Lord Barmouth, a man fully fitted to occupy 
the place I hold in the British Government; there- 
fore, strain every nerve to thwart the machinations 
of our enemies. Otherwise there must be war before 
the year is out — there must he ! ” 

“ I shall do my utmost, rely upon me,” I answered. 
“ It shall not be because of my want of enterprise 


Betrayal 317 

that this base system of espionage is allowed to con- 
tinue.” 

“ Good,” he said, offering me his hand. “ Keturn 
to Paris to-night, resume your inquiries, and remem- 
ber that in this affair you may be the means of saving 
your country from a war long and disastrous. There 
is a conspiracy against our beloved lady the Queen. 
That in itself is sufficient incentive to arouse to action 
any man in the Foreign Office. Kemember it always 
while working at this inscrutable mystery.” 

I took his thin, bony hand, and he gripped mine 
warmly. The secret of the great statesman’s popu- 
larity with all his staff, from ambassador down to 
fourth-grade clerk, was his personal contact with 
them, his readiness to consult and advise, and his un- 
failing friendship and courtesy. 

I promised him that I would continue to do my 
utmost to discover the truth. Then, taking my leave, 
I went out and down the great staircase into Down- 
ing Street, where the dark afternoon was rendered 
the more cheerless by the rain falling heavily ; and 
the solitary policeman in his dripping cape touched 
his hat respectfully as I passed. The outlook in every 
way was certainly a most dismal and oppressive one. 

In obedience to the Marquess’ command, I returned 
to Paris by the night mail from Charing Cross. Dur- 
ing that journey I reflected deeply upon the best 
course to pursue in solving the problem. But the 
enigma was difficult, and its solution beyond the 
efforts even of the ubiquitous Kaye and his associ- 
ates. If I obtained leave of absence, and went down 
to the Eiviera, was it at all probable that I could 
learn some clue from Edith ? I was doubtful. 

Ever since that night, three months ago, when I 


318 Her Majesty’s Minister 

had followed the spies to that obscure hotel in the 
Rue des Petits Champs, they had been shadowed, and 
their doings reported. Wolf had been to Brussels and 
to Berlin, while Bertini had returned to London ; but 
their actions, although sometimes suspicious, had never 
supplied us with the clue we wanted. 

Bertini was at that moment, according to the re- 
ports of the special section at Scotland Yard, whose 
speciality it is to watch suspected secret agents in 
England, living in comfort at the Midland Hotel at 
St. Pancras Station. He usually passed his evenings 
with a few of his compatriots, playing dominoes at 
the Cafe Royal or the Cafe Moniaco. Wolf, on the 
other hand, was travelling hither and thither visiting 
various people, all of whom were noted in the elabo- 
rate system of espionage which was now being exer- 
cised upon them. 

After a week in Paris I consulted Lord Barmouth, 
and he agreed that it would be wise for me to travel 
to Bordighera and make a final attempt to obtain 
some fact from the woman whom I had once hoped 
to make my wife. Truth to tell, I made up my mind 
to travel South with great reluctance, for so false and 
untrue had she been that I had long ago resolved 
within myself never again to see her. But it was a 
matter of necessity that we should no longer remain 
in ignorance of the source of the information which 
constantly leaked out to our enemies ; hence, one 
evening I busied myself in assisting Mackenzie to 
pack my bag. While doing so the electric bell rang 
suddenly, and when my servant returned from an- 
swering the summons, he announced a visitor, saying : 

“ A lady has called to see you, sir — the Princess von 
Leutenberg.” 


Betrayal 3 1 9 

“ The Princess ! ” I gasped in surprise. 

Then, wondering what could be the nature of her 
business with me at that hour, I smoothed down my 
hair before the glass, drew a long breath (for I ex- 
pected a scene), and entered the room into which she 
had been shown. 

“ Leonie — you ! ’’ I cried in surprise. 

Her rich sables were unclasped at the throat, and 
when she rose quickly they fell from her, displaying 
her finely moulded white neck and arms, shining like 
alabaster in contrast to her low-cut corsage of black 
chiffon. 

Her face was blanched to the lips, the slim, gloved 
hand she gave me trembled, and her beautiful eyes, 
usually so brilliant and sparkling, had a look of haunt- 
ing fear in them. 

“ Gerald ! ” she whispered hoarsely, as if fearful lest 
she might be overheard, “ my secret is out ! I am 
ruined — ruined! And through you! You have be- 
trayed me to my enemies — you, the man I love ! ” 


CHAPTEK XXXIII 


WHICH CONTAINS A SURPRISE 

“ Betrayed you, L^onie ! ” I echoed. “ I have not 
betrayed you ! ” 

“But you have!” she declared angrily, her eyes 
flashing upon me. “ You have broken your oath to me.” 

“ I have broken no oath,” I answered calmly, add- 
ing, “ Let us sit down and talk quietly.” 

“ Talk quietly ! ” she cried, speaking rapidly in 
French. “Do you think I can talk quietly with ruin 
staring me in the face ? ” 

“ In what manner does ruin threaten you ? ” I in- 
quired, placing my hand upon her arm in an effort to 
calm her. 

She was terribly agitated, I could see, and her anger 
knew no bounds, although she was striving strenu- 
ously to suppress it. 

“ You have betrayed my secret — the secret of my 
love for you ! ” she cried. “ That letter which you 
promised me to destroy is in the hands of my bitterest 
enemy.” 

“ Forgive me, Leonie,” I cried quickly. “ The letter 
was mysteriously stolen from that writing-table there. 
How, I know not.” 

“ Cannot you even guess who is the thief ? ” 

I hesitated. The only person I suspected was 
Edith, who had been the solitary occupant of that 
room while she waited for me. It was after her de- 
320 


Which Contains a Surprise 321 

parture that I found the drawer in confusion and the 
letter missing. 

“ I have suspicion,” I replied with some hesitation, 
“ yet I feel assured it is unfounded.” 

“ Of whom ? ” 

“ Of a friend.” 

“A friend of yours?” she exclaimed quickly. 
“Therefore, an enemy of mine. It is a woman. 
Come, admit it.” 

“ I admit nothing,” I answered with a forced smile, 
my diplomatic instinct instantly asserting itself. 

“ Is it a woman, or is it not ? ” she demanded. 

“I am not compelled to answer that question, 
Leonie,” I remarked in a quiet voice. 

“ But having betrayed me — or rather having allowed 
me to be betrayed — it is surely only manly of you to 
endeavour to make amends ! ” she cried reproachfully. 
“ Even if you do not love me sulSciently to make me 
your wife, that is hardly a reason why you should ex- 
pose me to my enemies.” 

“ I have not done so willfully,” I declared. “ As 
the letter has been stolen by an enemy, I feel sure 
that the suspicion resting upon my friend is un- 
founded.” 

“ But if the thief is a woman and she loves you, she 
would naturally be my enemy, and seek to overthrow 
me,” argued the Princess logically. 

“It is my fault,” I said. “I regret the incident, 
and seek your forgiveness, Leonie. I had no idea 
that spies and thieves surrounded me, as apparently 
they do, or I would have destroyed it instead of keep- 
ing it as a cherished relic of one of the few romantic 
incidents of my life.” 

“ You were very foolish to keep it, just as it was 


322 Her Majesty’s Minister 

foolish of me to have written it,” she observed. 

Cannot you see how compromised I am by it ? I 
have offered to betray to you a secret of State, a se- 
cret known only to kings, emperors, and their imme- 
diate advisers, in return for your love. I am self-con- 
demned,” she added wildly. 

“ But into whose hands has the letter passed ? ” I 
inquired, now quite convinced of the extreme gravity 
of the situation. 

“ Into the possession of a man who is my most bitter 
enemy in all the world. Ah, you don’t know, Gerald, 
how I am suffering ! ” 

She placed her hand upon her brow, and stood rigid 
and motionless. 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Because this man, with the evidence of my treason 
in his possession, is endeavouring to force me into a 
hateful bondage. To save myself,” she added hoarsely, 

“ I must obey, or else ” 

Or else what ? ” I inquired, looking at her in as- 
tonishment. 

“ Or else escape exposure and ruin by another 
method, more swift and more to be trusted.” 

“ I don’t understand you. What do you mean ? ” 

“ Suicide,” she answered in a low, hard voice, regard- 
ing me coldly, with a truly desperate look in her eyes. 

“ Come, come, Leonie,” I said quickly, “ to talk like 
that is absurd.” 

‘‘ Ho, it is not in the least absurd,” she protested, a 
heavy, serious look upon her face. “ Like yourself, I 
am the victim of a vile conspiracy. This man has 
long sought to entrap me, and has, alas ! now suc- 
ceeded.” 

“ For what reason ? ” 


Which Contains a Surprise 323 

She remained silent, as though doubting whether to 
tell me the whole truth. In a few moments, however, 
she made a sudden resolve. 

‘‘Because he wishes to marry me,” she answered 
briefly. 

“ And by holding this letter as a menace he now 
seeks to force you into a marriage that is distasteful ? ” 

“ Distasteful ! ” she echoed. “ I hate and detest him ! 
Bather than marry him I would prefer suicide.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because if I do not accept his conditions for the 
return of that letter he will expose me,” she answered 
in despair. 

“ Has he threatened this ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And what is your response ? ” 

“ I have refused, Gerald. Even though he were not 
so hateful I could not marry him, because I love you.” 

She was trembling with agitation, and tears stood 
in her fine eyes. 

“ Love for me is out of the question, Leonie,” I an- 
swered kindly, yet firmly. “ How that you find your- 
self in this critical situation it is for us both to strive 
to frustrate this enemy of yours. It is my duty to 
assist you.” 

“ Ah, you cannot ! ” she said in a tone of utter de- 
spair. “ The power he holds over me by possessing 
the written evidence of my treason — my offer to be- 
tray to you the secret of my Emperor — is complete, 
and he is well aware of it. He demands marriage 
with me, or he will ruin me, and brand me as a trai- 
tress to my country and my Emperor.” 

“ This man is, of course, now aware of what passed 
between us during my visit at Chantoiseau ? ” I said. 


324 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“He knows everything,” she answered. “I was 
living quietly at Kudolstadt, and endeavouring to for- 
get you, when of a sudden, a fortnight ago, there came 
to the castle a stranger, who sent in his card sealed in 
an envelope. My servants regarded him with some 
suspicion, and well they might, for when I opened the 
envelope and took out the card I knew that at last the 
blow had fallen. He had dared to come and seek me 
there.” 

“ You saw him ?” 

“ Yes, he demanded an interview. We had not met 
for nearly two years, yet he approached me with a 
declaration of love upon his lips. I laughed at him, 
but presently he held me dumb by producing from his 
pocket the compromising letter. He began by point- 
ing out how easily he could ruin me socially, and 
prove me to be a traitress. He made an end by offer- 
ing to place the letter unreservedly in my hands on 
the day I became his wife.” 

“ He had declared his love to you before ? ” 

“Yes, two years ago. But I knew him too well, 
and hated him too thoroughly, to take a favourable 
view of his ridiculous declaration.” 

“ And this man ? ” I asked. “ Who is he ? ” 

“ He was once in the employ of my father. Prince 
Kinsky von Wchinitz, and was administrator of the 
estates at Wchinitz and Tettau, in Bohemia. Imme- 
diately my husband died and the feudal estates of 
Schwazbourg passed into my possession, as well as 
those of my late father, this man pressed his claim. 
He first endeavoured to pay court to me ; then, on 
finding I was cold to his attentions, he became threat- 
ening, and I was compelled to discharge him. After- 
wards he drifted away, became a chevalier d’industrie, 


Which Contains a Surprise 325 

and at last, because of my refusal to hear his repeated 
declarations of affection, he made a dastardly attempt 
upon my life.” 

“ He tried to kill you ? ” I exclaimed incredulously. 

“ Yes,” she responded. “ Had it not been for the 
timely intervention of a stranger — a person whom I 
did not see — he would have murdered me.” 

“ Through jealousy ? ” 

“ Yes, through jealousy.” 

“ And this fellow’s name ? ” I asked, my anger rising 
at the thought of a discharged employe thus holding 
Leonie in his power, and, despite the fact that he had 
made an attempt upon her life, badgering her to 
marry him. “ Is there any reason why I should not 
know it ? ” 

There was a brief silence. She hesitated to tell me, 
and not until I had pressed her several times to dis- 
close to me his name would she answer. 

“ The man who is seeking to drive me to destruction 
and to suicide is,” she replied reluctantly, “ an adven- 
turer of the worst type — a man who is seeking to make 
a wealthy marriage at the expense of a woman whom 
he holds in his power, and whom he can ruin at any 
moment if he chooses.” 

“His name? Tell me.” 

“His name is Count Kodolphe d’Egloffstein-Wolfs- 
burg.” 

I held my breath, utterly amazed by this disclosure. 

“The man known as Kodolphe Wolf?” I cried — 
“ the adventurer who fell into the hands of the police 
at St. Petersburg, and served nine months’ imprison- 
ment as a rogue and vagabond ? ” 

“What! you know him?” she demanded in sur- 
prise. “ Is he a friend of yours ? ” 


326 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ A friend ! ” I echoed. ‘‘ No, not a friend by any 
means. An enemy, and a bitter one.” 

“ Then he is mutually our enemy ? ” she declared. 

“ Most certainly,” I answered, adding, “ What you 
have just told me, Leonie, reveals to me the truth re- 
garding several incidents which have been hitherto 
unaccountable. Was Wolf actually in your father’s 
employ ? ” 

“Yes, for years. He was the younger son of old 
Count Leopold d’Egloff stein- Wolfsburg, whose small 
estate joined that of Tettau, and, after a wild career 
in Vienna and Paris, returned home a ne’er-do-well. 
My father, in order to give him another chance in life, 
gave him control of a portion of the estates, and, find- 
ing him shrewd and clever at management, ultimately 
made him administrator of the whole, which position 
he filled up to the time when, after my husband’s 
death, I discharged him on account of dishonesty and 
of the constant annoyance to which I was subjected by 
him. When he left me he vowed that one day I 
should become his wife, and it seems that in order to 
gain that end he has been scheming ever since.” 

“ He is a spy in the French secret service,” I ob- 
served thoughtfully, for strange refiections were run- 
ning through my mind at that instant. 

“ I have heard so,” she answered. “ But that is not 
actually proved, is it ? ” 

“ Absolutely.” 

“ Is it possible that he himself stole the letter from 
your desk there ? Has he ever been here ? ” 

“ Never, to my knowlege. He would never dare to 
enter here,” I replied. “ No, that letter was stolen by 
one of his accomplices.” 

“ A woman ? ” 


Which Contains a Surprise 327 

“ Yes, I think it was a woman.” 

“ A woman whom you love, or have loved, Gerald ? 
Come now, be perfectly frank with me.” 

“You guess aright,” I answered, remembering that 
as far as I was aware she knew nothing of the exist- 
ence of Edith Austin. 

A dark look crossed her features. 

“Then if that woman knew the contents of the 
letter she had a motive of jealousy,” argued the 
Princess. 

“ She may have had. At any rate I have suspicion 
that, acting under Wolf’s instructions, she abstracted 
the letter and handed it to him without previous 
knowledge of what it contained.” 

“Ko, I scarcely think that. Wolf would tell her 
that I loved you and was her rival in your aifections, 
in order to incense her against me. What is her 
name ? ” 

I kept silent for a moment, reflecting upon the 
wisdom of telling her the truth at that juncture. At 
last I resolved that, as our interests were mutual, 
there should be no secrets between us. 

“She is English, and her name is Austin — Edith 
Austin.” 

. “ Edith Austin ! ” she cried in dismay. “ And you 

love her ? — you love that woman f ” 

“Why do you speak of her in that manner?” I 
demanded. 

“ Austin — Austin ? ” she repeated. “ It is certainly 
not the first time I have heard that name. Certainly 
her reputation is not above suspicion. And you actu- 
ally love her, Gerald ? ” she added in a blank tone of 
reproach. “ Is it really possible that you love her ? ” 

“Why?” 


328 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“Because Bertini — who was once in the Austrian 
service, and is now a secret agent of the French — told 
me in Yienna not long ago that one of the most suc- 
cessful French agents in England was a young girl 
named Edith Austin. She must be the same. I know 
Bertini well, although he is not at all a desirable ac- 
quaintance. And you love this girl — ^you, in your re- 
sponsible position at the Embassy ? Is it not extremely 
dangerous ? ” 

I admitted that it was, but expressed disinclination 
to discuss the matter further, feeling that the more 
we talked of it the deeper would be the pain I caused 
to the handsome and desperate woman before me. 

“ You told me just now that Wolf once made an at- 
tempt upon your life,” I said presently. “ These words 
of yours have given me a clue to an incident which 
has to me long been a mystery.” 

“ How?” 

“Listen, and I’ll tell you. One day in late au- 
tumn two years ago I alighted at the little station of 
Montigny, on the line to Montargis, in order to ride 
through the forest of Fontainbleau to Bois-le-Koi, 
and return thence to Paris by rail. I am fond of the 
forest, and when I can snatch a day, sometimes go for 
a healthy spin through it, either riding, cycling, or on 
foot. Having lunched at the little inn at Marlotte, 
where my mare was stabled, I started off on the road 
which, as you know well, leads through the wild rocks 
of the Gorge aux Loups to the Carrefour de la Croix 
du Grand Maitre in the heart of the forest, and thence 
away to the town of Fontainebleau. The afternoon 
was gloomy and lowering, and darkness crept on much 
more quickly than I had anticipated. It had rained 
earlier in the day, and the roads were wet and muddy, 


Which Contains a Surprise 329 

while the wind that had sprung up moaned dismally 
through the half-bare trees, rendering the ride any- 
thing but a cheerful one. 

“By six o’clock it was already quite dark, and I was 
still in the centre of the forest, galloping along a nar- 
row by-way which I knew would bring me out upon 
the main road to Paris. The mare’s hoofs were fall- 
ing softly upon the carpet of rain-sodden leaves when 
of a sudden I heard a woman’s cry of distress in the 
darkness close to me. A man’s voice sounded; speak- 
ing in German, and next instant there was the flash 
of a revolver and a loud report. The light gave me a 
clue, and, pulling up, I swung myself from my saddle 
and without hesitation rushed to the woman’s assist- 
ance. I slipped my own revolver from my pocket and 
sprang upon the man who had fired, while at the same 
instant the woman wrested herself from the assassin’s 
grasp. By means of the white shawl she wore about 
her head I saw her disappearing quickly through the 
undergrowth. With a fierce oath the man turned 
upon me, and, as we struggled, endeavoured to get 
the muzzle of his weapon beneath my chin. I felt the 
cold steel against my jaw, and next instant he pulled 
the trigger. My face was scorched by the flash, but 
happily the bullet went harmlessly past my cheek. I 
had dropped my own weapon early in the encounter, 
and now saw that the only way in which I could save 
my life was to beat the fellow’s head against a tree 
until he became insensible. This I succeeded in doing, 
tripping him suddenly, forcing him down, and beating 
his skull against a tree-stump until he lay there mo- 
tionless as a log. Then I took his weapon from him, 
and, striking a match, bent down to see his face. To 
my , astonishment I found that he was a man I had 


330 Her Majesty’s Minister 

known slightly several years before — the man who 
holds you within his power — Kodolphe Wolf.” 

“ And the woman who so narrowly escaped death — 
indeed, whose life was saved by your timely aid — is 
the woman who loves you — myself ! ” she cried. 

“I never dreamed, until your words just now gave 
me a clue to the truth, that you were actually the un- 
known woman who escaped from the hands of the 
assassin,” I said. 

For answer she grasped my hand warmly and 
looked straight into my eyes, though she did not 
utter a single word. 


CHAPTEE XXXIY 


AT BOEDIGHERA 

Bordighera, that charming, well-sheltered little 
town which, lying well back in its picturesque bay 
on the Italian Eiviera, has during the past year or so 
come quickly into fashionable prominence, is at its best 
towards the end of February. It is not by any means 
a large place. The quaint old town is perched upon a 
conical hill with queer ladder-like streets, so narrow 
that no vehicles can pass up them. There are strong 
stone arches to support the houses against possible 
earthquakes. The streets are dark, sometimes mere 
tunnels, as is so frequent in those neighbouring rock 
villages, Sasso, Dolceacqua, Apricale, and the rest, the 
reason being that they were built in the days when 
the Moorish pirates made constant raids along that 
coast, and the houses were clustered together for 
mutual protection against those dreaded raiders. 

But below the ancient town, Bordighera has spread 
along the seashore and into the olive-woods. In 
February, when in England all is bare and cheerless, 
the gardens of the handsome hotels and the big white 
villas on the hillsides are ablaze with flowers, the air 
is heavy with the perfume of the heliotrope, growing in 
great bushes, and the sweet scent of the carnations, 
grown in flelds for Co vent Garden and the flower- 
market outside the Madeleine. 

The tourist in knickerbockers, with his camera over 
331 


332 Her Majesty’s Minister 

his shoulder, never goes to Bordighera, for to the 
uninitiated it is far too dull. There is no casino, as at 
Nice, no jetty, no cafes with al-fresco music, no tables 
out upon the pavement; and, truth to tell, such 
attractions are not required. The people who winter 
at Bordighera represent the most distinguished coterie 
in Europe. They are not of the snobbish crowd who 
frequent San Kemo, and they do their best to avoid 
attracting into their midst the undesirable crowd from 
Monte Carlo, or the Cookites from Nice. Life in 
Bordighera from November until the end of April is 
essentially charming. The people who winter there 
regularly — English, Germans, Kussians, Belgians, and 
Italians — all know each other, and nearly every even- 
ing there are brilliant entertainments, at which princes, 
dukes, marquises, and counts attend as thickly as 
blackberries grace the hedgeside in autumn. The big 
hotels give dances weekly, to which every one in 
Society is welcome. In fact, life in Bordighera is 
very similar to that in a pleasant country town in 
England, but with the difference that it is purely 
cosmopolitan, without any distinction of caste. Em- 
perors, kings, grand-dukes, and reigning princes are all 
patrons of the place, and it certainly stands unique in 
the whole world both for its natural beauties and for 
its unpretentiousness. There is no artificial charm, as 
at Nice, San Kemo, Monte Carlo, or Cannes. The 
easy-going people of Bordighera are well aware that 
the charm of their clean, white little town lies in 
its natural beauty and quaint old-world picturesque- 
ness ; hence, although the health and comfort of their 
foreign visitors are studied, no attempt is made to give 
it a false air of garishness and gaiety. 

When at noon, two days after the Princess’s visit to 


At Bordighera 333 

me, I stepped from the sleeping-car that had brought 
me down from Paris, and, entering a fiacre, drove up 
to the Hotel Angst, I turned back and saw before me 
a sunny panorama of turquoise sea and purple moun- 
tains, which compelled me to pause in rapt admiration. 
The grey-green of the olives, the brighter foliage of 
the oranges with the yellow fruit gleaming in the 
green, the high feathery palms waving in the zephyr, 
the flowers of every hue, the dazzlingly white town, 
and its background of grey inaccessible crags, snow- 
tipped here and there, behind Apricale, combined to 
make up a picture unique and superb. 

I had been in Bordighera once before, but this 
second impression in no way destroyed the former. 
On several previous occasions I had spent a month or 
so in the South at Monte Carlo, Mentone, and Hice, 
but I must admit that I preferred King’s Koad at 
Brighton to the Promenade des Anglais at Nice. 
Mentone I disliked because of its bath-chair invalids, 
San Kemo because of its snobbery ; and Monte Carlo, 
with all its Jargon of the play, the eternal Casino, the 
band outside the Caf6 de Paris, the clatter at Ciro’s, 
and the various pasteboard attractions, was to me only 
tolerable for a week. Bordighera, with better climate 
and a native population exceedingly well-disposed 
towards the English, possesses distinct advantages 
over them all, although it never advertises itself on 
railway-station hoardings, like Nice or San Kemo, by 
means of posters in which the sea is the colour of 
washing-blue. 

As I had not advised Edith of my coming, it being 
my intention to surprise her, it was not until after the 
dressing-bell had rung for dinner that evening that I 
went below, I watched her descend the staircase, a 


334 


Her Majesty’s Minister 

neat figure in cream, with corsage slightly decollete, 
and with pink carnations in her hair. Then I ap- 
proached her in the great hall and held out my hand. 

She drew back in amazement. The next moment 
she welcomed me warmly, evidently under the im- 
pression that I had come there in order to forgive. 

Aunt Hetty, looking quite spruce in black satin, and 
wearing a gay cap and an emerald brooch, came down- 
stairs a few minutes later, and, after a brief explana- 
tion, we followed the others in to the table-d’hote. 
As early arrivals, they had places near the head of the 
table, while mine was far down, near the end. There- 
fore, not until the meal was over, and we sat in 
rocking-chairs in the hall listening to the music, was I 
able to chat to her, and then nothing confidential 
could pass between us because of the other guests 
seated around, the men smoking, and gossiping, and 
the women enjoying the lazy post-prandial hour before 
the arrival of the English mail with the two-days-old 
letters and newspapers. 

After a long talk with her, mostly upon trivialities, 
I retired that night with a distinct impression that 
somehow my presence there was unwelcoirle. She 
had told me that they did not intend to remain much 
longer in Bordighera, and that they would either go 
on to Home or back to England. I felt convinced 
that this decision had been suddenly arrived at since 
my advent. 

On the following morning, after my coffee, I went 
forth for a stroll into the long high-street of the town, 
where, in the window of the British Yice-Consulate, 
was placed a board bearing a number of telegrams. I 
paused, finding that they gave the latest news of the 
war in the Transvaal, which was telegraphed from 


At Bordighera 335 

London twice daily. As I did so, another passer-by 
paused and eagerly peered into the window beside me. 

He was a shabbily dressed Italian, smoking a long, 
rank Toscano, and as I turned away from the board 
my eyes fell suddenly upon his face. 

It was Paolo Bertini. 

Our recognition was mutual, and I saw in an instant 
that he became confused. He moved away, but I 
walked beside him. 

“ Why are you here ? ” I inquired in French with 
some warmth. 

“ I may put to you the same question,” he answered 
defiantly, his dark eyes hashing upon me with an evil 
gleam. 

“ Kemember,” I said, “ you have been already con- 
demned as a French spy, although you are an Italian. 
They are not fond of French spies here, on the 
frontier.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” he cried, turning upon me 
quickly. “ Is that a threat ? ” 

‘‘It is,” I answered boldly. “We have met now, 
and you must answer to me for several things.” 

“ For^what ? ” 

“ For your recent actions as a spy.” 

“ You are extremely polite — like all the English,” 
he said sneeringly. 

We had turned back and were walking in the direc- 
tion of the hotel again. 

“In this matter politeness is not necessary — only 
plain speaking,” I said. “ First, I may tell you, for 
your own information, that I know well your methods 
and all about your assistance to your accomplice Wolf. 
Every action of yours during these past three months 
has been watched, and the truth is now known.” 


336 Her Majesty’s Minister 

His face went pale, but his nerve never deserted 
him. Even though I myself had once given him into 
the hands of the police, he was still the same schem- 
ing, desperate spy as he had ever been. 

“Well,” he laughed, “if you know the truth I hope 
it interests you. You had best go back to Paris and 
not seek to interfere with me.” 

“ I came here for a purpose,” I told him plainly, 
“ and that purpose was to find you and hand you over 
to the police as a French secret agent. In France you 
are secure, but here you will discover that your coun- 
trymen are not so well-disposed towards a traitor.” 

“ I have no fear of arrest,” he replied. “ Do your 
worst, caro mio. You cannot harm me.” 

“ Yery well,” I answered, “ we shall see.” 

He glanced at me quickly with an evil look. If he 
had dared he would have struck me down with the 
poignard which he kept always concealed in his belt. 
But he was a coward, I knew ; therefore, I felt safe 
while among the crowd of gaily dressed promenaders 
who were enjoying the morning sunshine. If he made 
an attempt upon me, it would be in secret, not in the 
open. 

“Shall I tell you why you are here?” he asked. 
“You have come to Bordighera to follow Edith Aus- 
tin — just as I did.” 

“ And if so, what then ? ” 

Keturn to Paris. She is mine.” 

“ She shall never be ! ” I cried furiously. “ You, a 
spy, a coward, and a traitor, hold her within your 
power, and are forcing her to become your catspaw. 
I know it all. I saw you that night at Kyburgh. I 
followed you. I made inquiries of her, and learned 
the truth.” 


At Bordighera 337 

“ What ! ” he cried, “she told you — she has dared to 
give me away ? ” 

“I know all,” I answered firmly, “and your doom 
is imprisonment on the Island of Gorgona for the re- 
mainder of your life.” 

“You exposed me once!” he cried in anger. “I 
have not forgotten it. We shall be quits one day.” 

“We shall be quits this very day,” I asserted 
hotly. 

“ Ah I ” he laughed defiantly, “ that remains to be 
seen. You are jealous of Edith Austin,” he added 
with a supercilious sneer. 

“ She is your victim 1 ” I cried, “ and I have resolved 
to rescue her.” 

“ Because you think she is pure and honest, and that 
she loves you ? But very soon you will discover your 
mistake.” 

“ Do you make an imputation against her honour ? ” 
I demanded fiercely. 

He shrugged his shoulders meaningly, his face 
broadening into an evil grin. 

“ You are a coward in addition to being a spy and a 
traitor ! ” I declared. “ You would even endeavour to 
besmirch a woman’s fair name.” 

“ Fair name ! ” he laughed insultingly. “ Love like 
yours, amico mio, is always blind. You English are 
always so amusingly simple.” 

“ Come,” I said, halting suddenly when we had ar- 
rived at the small garden in the centre of which the 
band-stand is placed. As we were some distance 
away from the promenaders, we could not be over- 
heard. “ Enough has passed between us. I tell you 
plainly that it is my intention to end all this and to 
apply for your arrest as a spy.” 


338 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ And supposing I do not allow myself to be ar- 
rested ? Suppose I cross the frontier at once ? ” 

“A telegram to the police at Yentimiglia will pre- 
vent you,” I answered quite calmly. “ You see that 
city guard yonder ? ” I said, pointing to a man in uni- 
form standing not far off upon the kerb. ‘‘I have 
only now to demand your arrest, and you will never 
again enjoy freedom your whole life long.” 

“ But you don’t think I should be such a fool as to 
allow myself to be taken, do you ? ” he said, his air of 
defiance still perfect. , 

He went on chewing the end of his Virginia. 

“Your description is too well known. You will 
not be at liberty a single hour after I make my state- 
ment to the Prefect.” Then I paused, and, looking 
straight into his evil face, added, “ There is, however, 
yet another way.” 

“ How?” 

“ A way in which you may avoid arrest — the only 
way.” 

“ Explain,” he said. “ This is very interesting.” 

“By being perfectly frank with me,” I replied, 
“ and by making explanation of your work of espion- 
age in London.” 

“ You will never know that,” he replied quickly. 
“ Cause my arrest if you wish, but upon the incidents 
of the past year my lips are sealed, because I know 
that you can never secure my conviction in Italy.” 

“ Then you still defy me, and refuse to explain any- 
thing ? ” 

It was my endeavour to obtain from him the secret 
of how despatches had so frequently been stolen. 

“ I will explain nothing,” he declared firmly. 
“ You have no evidence upon which to convict me.” 


339 


At Bordighera 

“ Very well,” I answered slowly and distinctly, “ we 
shall see. You apparently forget that within your 
photographic camera, which so fortunately fell into 
my hands, was an undeveloped negative of an impor- 
tant diplomatic document having reference to Italy’s 
position in regard to the Triple Alliance, which you 
photographed in the Italian Embassy in Brussels and 
intended to hand to your employers in Paris ? I have 
a print of it here, in my pocketbook, and I think it 
will be of considerable interest both to the Italian 
police and the Italian Government.” 

His jaw dropped, and the light went out of his dark, 
sallow countenance. I saw that if ever the spirit of 
murder was in this scoundrel’s heart it was there at 
that moment. 


CHAPTER XXXY 


IN WHICH EDITH SPEAKS PLAINLY 

After luncheon, when Miss Foskett, as was usual, 
ascended to her room to take her afternoon nap, Edith 
managed to escape and accompany me for a walk. 
The hotel was crowded with visitors, mostly English, 
who had come South in search of sunshine. The Bat- 
tle of Flowers was to be fought that day. The little 
place was gay with flags, the pavements covered with 
confetti, and there was everywhere that air of gaiety 
and irresponsibility that Carnival lends to every 
Italian town. In Carnival Bordighera is at her best, 
and the fun of the festa is fast and furious, without 
the rough horseplay and pellets of lime indulged in at 
Xice. 

Edith had, however, seen the Battle of Flowers at 
Nice in the previous week, having gone over there for 
the day. As this was so, we resolved to climb the 
hill behind the town and wander through the grey 
olive-woods, away from the boisterous merrymakers. 
Up a steep road on the outskirts of the town in the 
direction of sunny Ospedaletti we climbed, and thence 
by a mule-track we ascended zigzag until we entered 
the beautiful olive-groves. Seen through the grey- 
green trees with their twisted trunks, the panorama 
spread before us was truly wonderful, the whole line 
of rugged coast being in view for miles on either 
hand, the brown, bare rocks standing out in sharp 
340 


In Which Edith Speaks Plainly 341 

contrast to the deep sapphire of the glassy sea. Al- 
though February, it was like a May day in England, 
the air flower-scented and balmy, the sun so warm 
that to walk in overcoats or wraps was impossible. 

“Well,” I said at length, when we had halted a sec- 
ond time to turn back and admire the view, “ you are 
displeased with me, Edith? Why am I so unwel- 
come ? ” 

“You are not unwelcome,” she declared quickly. 
“ I am certainly not displeased.” 

“ I begin to think that during the months you’ve 
been here you have forgotten those words you uttered 
to me in Paris, just as you forgot your vow made to 
me beneath the willows at Ryburgh ? ” 

“ I have forgotten nothing,” she protested. “ This 
is cruel of you, Gerald, to reproach me thus.” 

“ You told me then that you reciprocated my affec- 
tion, yet you allow this man Bertini to follow you 
everywhere. He is here.” 

“ Here ? ” she gasped in alarm, her face pale in an 
instant. “ Are you certain ? ” 

“ I have seen and spoken with him this morning.” 

I did not tell her the nature of our conversation, or 
how I had given him twelve hours in which to decide 
whether he preferred to reveal the truth or take the 
consequences of arrest ; neither did I tell her that I 
had called at the police-office and that the spy was 
already under close observation, the police believing 
him to be an undesirable visitor from Monte Carlo. 

“You’ve spoken with him? What did he tell 
you ? ” 

“ Yery little of consequence. I know that you are 
his victim, and I am seeking to release you from the 
thraldom,” I answered gravely. 


342 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ Ah ! ” she cried wistfully, “ if you only could ! If 
you only could, then I should commence a new life 
and be happy ! The awful suspense is killing me.” 

“ Suspense of what ? ” 

She was silent for a moment. 

“I fear his threats,” she faltered. “I know he 
would have no compunction whatever in causing my 
ruin when I am no longer of further use to him.” 

“ Now, tell me plainly and honestly, Edith,” I asked, 
looking straight into her white, anxious face, “ do you 
love him ? ” 

“Love him!” she echoed wildly. “Why, I hate 
him ! Have I not already told you so ? ” 

“ But he loves you.” 

“ Of that I am not certain. If he does, it is through 
no fault whatever of mine. I detest and hate him ! ” 

“ Will you not tell me how he managed to obtain 
this irresistible power over you ? Can you not help 
me in my search for the truth ? ” 

“ I must not speak ; I dare not, Gerald,” she an- 
swered in a hoarse whisper, as though the very thought 
of exposure filled her with alarm. 

“ You fear his revenge ? ” 

She nodded, adding in a low tone, “ He knows my 
secret.” 

“ And I, your lover, do not,” I observed reproach- 
fully. “Well,” I continued, “'answer me truly one 
question. Tell me whether, when you called upon me 
on the last occasion in Paris, you stole a letter from 
my desk — a letter from the Princess von Leuten- 
berg ? ” 

“From the woman who loves you?” she cried 
huskily. “Yes, I did.” 

“ And you stole it at Bertini’s instigation ? He told 


In Which Edith Speaks Plainly 343 

you where it would be found, the colour of the en- 
velope, and the coronet and cipher upon it, did he 
not?” 

She nodded in the affirmative. 

“ And that same night you met him in a small cafe 
at Batignolles, and handed him the letter ? He was 
with his accomplice, Kodolphe Wolf.” 

“ It is just as you say,” she answered. “ But how 
did you know this ? ” 

“Because I myself watched you,” I answered. 
“ That letter was stolen to be used against the Prin- 
cess.” 

“ And if it is, what then ? That woman who offered 
to betray her country in return for your love is my 
rival ! ” she cried fiercely. 

“ The theft of that letter was committed with quite 
another motive,” I replied. “ That adventurer Wolf 
desires to marry the Princess, and with his accomplice 
has made you his catspaw to obtain the letter, and 
thus compel her to marry him. If she refuses, he 
threatens to denounce her.” 

“ Has he actually threatened this ? ” she cried in 
surprise. “I never dreamt that such was his mo- 
tive.” 

“She is in Paris, suffering from this scoundrel’s 
tyranny. As the man is an adventurer and spy, mar- 
riage between them is out of the question.” 

She turned to me, and, looking into my eyes, ear- 
nestly demanded : 

“ Tell me, Gerald, do you love her, as they told me 
that you do? You visited her at Chantoiseau, and it 
is said that you often went long walks in the forest 
together. Besides, in Paris you met often at various 
receptions and dances.” 


344 Majesty’s Minister 

“ True,” I admitted. “We met often, and I have 
more than once been her guest at the chateau ; but as 
to loving her, such an idea has never entered my head. 
She is a smart and attractive woman, like many others 
in the circle in which I am compelled to move ; but I 
swear to you, by all I hold most sacred, that I never 
loved her in the past, and that to-day is as yesterday.” 

“ She loves you. That letter is sufficient proof of it.” 

“ It was written in a moment of madness,” I assured 
her. “ She regretted it a few hours afterwards, and 
asked me to destroy it. The fault is entirely my own, 
for I neglected to carry out her wish. By my own 
culpable negligence she is placed in this position.” 

“ Yes,” she replied. “ Forgive me, Gerald ; I acted 
under compulsion, as I have always been compelled to 
act.” 

“Certainly I forgive,” I answered. “But will it 
not be humane conduct on your part to rescue the 
Princess from this terrible doom? Wolf wishes to 
marry her for her money alone, and will force this 
step upon her if we can find no means to save her.” 

She paused. Hitherto she had been jealous of 
Leonie, but now, upon my assurance that I had no 
love for her, I saw that she inclined towards mercy. 

“ If I could,” she said at last, “ I would assist her. 
But I cannot see that it is possible.” 

“ You can do so by explaining your own position to 
me,” I said. “Despicable though it may seem, the 
ghastly truth is, that you are actually a spy in the 
service of France. If you do not seek to clear your- 
self now, you may be condemned with your accom- 
plices Wolf, Bertini, and Yolande de Foville.” 

“ That woman ! ” she cried quickly. “ It was she 
who plotted against you,” 


In Which Edith Speaks Plainly 345 

“ Then you have met her ! ” I exclaimed, surprised 
at this revelation. 

I had never believed that they had met. 

“Yes,” Edith replied, “I met her in London ; and 
while dining one night at the Carlton with Wolf and 
Bertini she told me how she had misled you into the 
belief that she loved you passionately, in order to ob- 
tain from you certain official information which had 
been of the greatest use to them at the Quai d’Orsay. 
She little dreamed that I knew you and loved you, and 
the three of them laughed heartily over what they 
called your gullibility.” 

I pursed my lips, for I now saw that woman’s mo- 
tive in responding to my declaration of love long ago. 
At the time I would not believe the whispered con- 
demnation of the Countess and her daughter as secret 
agents, but of late the truth had been shown me all 
too plainly. 

“ And did she mention an incident last year in Paris 
as the result of which she nearly lost her life ? ” I in- 
quired. 

“ Yes ; she told us a long story of how a mysterious 
attempt had been made to poison her in her own 
apartment in Paris by some subtle poison being placed 
upon the gum of the envelopes in her escritoire. She 
wrote a letter, and licked the envelope in order to seal 
it, when she was seized suddenly by excruciating 
pains, followed by coma and a state so nearly re- 
sembling death that even the doctors were at first de- 
ceived. Only by an antidote administered by an Eng- 
lish doctor — a friend of yours, I believe — was her life 
saved. Because of your efforts she had, she said, been 
seized by remorse, and ceased to mislead you further, 
because of the debt of gratitude she owed you.” 


346 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ Yery kind indeed of her,” I laughed. 

A silence fell between us. We were both looking 
seaward, far away over the great expanse of clear 
bright blue, to where a distant steamer was leaving a 
trail of smoke upon the horizon. Down in the carna- 
tion-gardens some girls were singing an old Italian 
folk-song while they cut and packed the flowers for 
the London market ; at our feet were violets every- 
where. 

“ Can you tell me absolutely nothing, in order to 
lead me to a knowledge of the truth, Edith ? ” I asked 
again. “ Eemember that our love and our future de- 
pend upon you alone. At present you are a spy, liable 
to arrest as a traitress.” 

“ I know — I know ! ” she cried, bursting into a flood 
of tears. “ It was not my fault. I could not help it. 
I was compelled — compelled ! ” 

“You are aware of the channels through which 
knowledge of our diplomatic secrets have been ob- 
tained by our enemies. Will you not make amends 
by telling me the truth ? ” I asked in a low, persuasive, 
earnest tone, my arm about her slim waist. 

“ I dare not ! ” she sobbed — “ I dare not I They 
would kill me, as they have sworn to do if I betraved 
them ! ” 

During the hour that followed, as we wandered to- 
gether among the olives, I ascertained a few unim- 
portant facts from her — facts which threw consider- 
able light upon the ingenuity of the spies with whom 
she had been compelled to ally herself. But upon the 
secret of how their great coups had been accomplished 
her lips were sealed. 

I gave her to understand that Bertini was now 
within an ace of arrest, and that in less than an hour 


In Which Edith Speaks Plainly 347 

he would, if I willed it, be inside the Prefecture, 
charged with treason against his own Government; 
but in such terror did she hold him that even my as- 
sertion that his power over her had ended did not in- 
duce her to disclose anything. 

At first it had seemed to me almost impossible that 
she, living in the country with the strictly prim and 
proper Miss Foskett, could at the same time be a mem- 
ber of the secret service of our enemies. But I had 
witnessed her midnight meeting with Bertini, and that 
had convinced me. 

“ And if you cause his arrest,” she exclaimed re- 
flectively, as we descended the mule-path on our re- 
turn, “ what will be the result ? ” 

“The only result will be, as far as I can tell at 
present, that his evil influence over you will be ended, 
and you will be free.” 

“ISTo,” she responded, sighing, “there are the 
others. His arrest would only bring their wrath upon 
me, for they would believe that I had betrayed them.” 

“ They are spies and enemies of our country and our 
Queen, Edith,” I urged. “ To betray them is your 
duty as an Englishwoman.” 

“ To disclose their secret would mean to me a swift 
and terrible death,” she answered. 

I saw that all my efforts at persuasion were unavail- 
ing. As we retraced our steps the silence between us 
was a sad and painful one. 

“You do not love me sufficiently to sacrifice all 
for my sake, Edith,” I said at last gravely ; “ other- 
wise you would help me to unravel the mystery.” 

We were just descending a narrow winding path to 
the high road as I spoke, and she halted suddenly in 
indecision. 


348 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“I do love you, Gerald,” she cried with sudden 
resolution. She flung her arms about my neck ; she 
buried her face upon my shoulder; she burst again 
into tears. “ I love you — I have never loved any man 
except yourself ! ” she declared passionately, lifting 
her face to me until our lips met. 

‘‘ Then will you not make this sacrifice, if you really 
love me so well?” I asked. “Will you not tell me 
the truth, and allow me to be your champion ? ” 

She hesitated, and I saw the terrible struggle going 
on within her. 

“ Yes,” she cried hoarsely at last, “ I will — I will I 
and if they kill me, you will at least know that I 
loved you, Gerald — that I loved you deeply and 
dearly ! ” 

“ I am convinced of that, darling,” I said. “ But in 
this affair your interests are my own. Tell me the 
truth, and give me freedom of action. If you will, 
we may yet overthrow our enemies.” 

For a few moments she did not speak, but sobbed 
convulsively upon my breast. Then, suddenly hold- 
ing her breath, she raised her tear-stained face to 
mine. At last, her love for me conquering all else, 
she said in a low whisper, as though fearful lest some 
one should overhear : 

“Go to the little village of Feltham, near London, 
the next station to Twickenham, and find Cypress 
Cottage. You will discover the secret there.” 

Feltham! It was the place mentioned by Wolf 
when I had listened to that conversation in the dingy 
little cafe at Batignolles. 

“What is there ? ” I inquired quickly. “ What secret 
does the cottage contain ? ” 

^ “Have a care in approaching the place. Obtain 


In Which Edith Speaks Plainly 349 

the assistance of the police — surround it — search it — 
and see.” 

“Is there sufficient evidence there to justify the 
spy’s arrest ? ” 

“ Certainly. Go and ascertain for yourself. I have 
betrayed their secret — that is enough. If their re- 
venge falls upon me, then I am content to bear it, 
Gerald, for your sake. Tell me, however, that you 
have forgiven me all the past ; that you will believe 
no word of any vile scandal that may be uttered 
against me by that pair of adventurers. Promise me,” 
she cried in deep earnestness. 

“ I will believe nothing without proof,” I answered, 
kissing her fondly. “ I love you to-day, darling, just 
as passionately as I did when first we met long ago. 
I start for London by the Calais express at six to- 
night, and will at once follow your directions.” 

“ And Bertini, what of him ? ” she asked in alarm. 
“ He is here, in Bordighera, for an evil purpose, with- 
out a doubt. If he knows, I shall be in deadly peril.” 

“Have no fear,” I assured her. “Before I leave 
he will be in the hands of the police. My plans are 
already matured.” We walked back through the 
orange-grove down to the hotel hand-in-hand, both 
resolved to act firmly and fearlessly. As we walked 
along we seldom spoke with our lips ; but our hearts 
discovered a beautiful language in the silence; and 
used it. 

I loved her and she had proved her affection for 
me. The betrayal of their secret made it plain that 
after all she was really mine ; for she had now defied 
her enemies and had placed her life in deadly jeop- 
ardy for my sake. 


CHAPTEE XXXYI 


THE SECEET 

The village of Feltham is a sleepy little place 
standing in the centre of a bare, flat country half- 
way between Twickenham and Staines. It is still 
quite a rural spot, even though only a league outside 
the twelve-mile radius. 

When I alighted from the train which had brought 
me down from Waterloo on the third day after leav- 
ing the sunshine of the Mediterranean, a cold east 
wind was blowing, and the platform was covered with 
finely powdered snow. I had as companions three 
plain-clothes officers from Scotland Yard, one of whom 
was Inspector Chick of the special political branch of 
the Criminal Investigation Department. Application 
for assistance to the Commissioner had quickly been 
responded to, and outside the station we were met by 
the local plain-clothes constable of the T Division, 
who had been informed by telegraph of our advent. 
On my arrival in London that morning I had received 
a telegram from the police at Bordighera stating that 
Paolo Bertini was already under arrest. 

We at once inquired the whereabouts of Cypress 
Cottage, and the local officer explained that it was a 
lonely house, situated nearly three miles away across 
the plain beyond Ashford, towards the valley of the 
Thames. We therefore obtained a wagonette at the 
station inn, and were very soon driving in company 
350 


The Secret 


351 

over the snow-covered road towards the spot indi- 
cated. 

About a mile beyond Ashford village Chick, who 
directed the operations, ordered the coachman to stop, 
and he and I descended. In the distance we could 
see outlined against the gloomy, snow-laden sky a 
small, whitewashed cottage, standing where the road 
we were traversing made a junction with the high 
road between Staines and Kingston. This the local 
constable pointed out as our goal. It was a truly 
lonely place of residence, for there seemed no other 
house within a radius of several miles. 

Chick, nimble of wit and resourceful, decided that 
we both should approach the place on foot, investi- 
gate, and endeavour to enter upon some pretext, while 
our three companions, at the moment of our entry, 
should drive up, leave the wagonette, and surround 
the place. 

As soon as we had arranged our plan of operations, 
I buttoned my coat and strode on beside the inspec- 
tor, who now took from his hip pocket a police-revol- 
ver and placed it in readiness in the outside pocket of 
his overcoat. With what resistance we might meet, 
or what was to be the nature of our discovery, we 
knew not. The revelation made by Edith was, to say 
the least of it, one of the strangest in my experience. 

At last, after trudging through the snow, which 
lay thickly upon that road, we reached the cottage, 
a rather ill-kept place of about six rooms, and 
walked up the pathway to the door. That it was 
inhabited was shown by the smoke ascending from 
one of the chimneys and the stunted geraniums 
which screened the windows on the inside. 

Chick knocked at the door, but for some anxious 


352 Her Majesty’s Minister 

moments no response was made to his summons. 
Both of us listened attentively, and distinctly heard 
the shuffling of feet within, accompanied by an omi- 
nous whispering and the low growl of a dog, which was 
apparently being ordered to remain quiet. 

“I hope these good people are not out,” Chick 
exclaimed in a loud voice, with a meaning look. “ It’s 
evident we’ve lost our way.” 

His words were heard by those within, and appar- 
ently at once disarmed suspicion, for in a few seconds 
the door was thrown open, and a tall, bony-faced 
woman of middle age confronted us with a look of 
inquiry. She was grey-haired, with a face which bore 
evident signs of the burdens of life. 

“ I’m very sorry to trouble you,” explained the in- 
spector. “ But we have unfortunately lost our way. 
We are strangers here. Could you direct us to the 
road to Littleton ? ” 

‘‘ Certainly, gentlemen,” she answered. “ Take the 
road along here to the left, and the Littleton road is 
the first on the left again. You can’t mistake it. 
There’s a sign-post up.” 

Scarcely had the woman finished her sentence, 
however, before Chick pushed her aside and entered 
the place, I following close behind. The height of 
the woman was uncommon, and it occurred to me 
that she was the mysterious female who had watched 
me on the Calais boat some months before. 

She gave a warning shout, and an ugly bulldog, 
released from the room beyond, came bounding 
fiercely upon us. Quick as thought Chick drew his 
revolver and shot the brute dead. The woman 
screamed “ Murder ! ” So well-timed was our raid 
that at this very moment we heard outside the shouts 


The Secret 


353 

of our companions, telling us that they had sur- 
rounded the place. 

Those moments were full of wild excitement. 
From one room to another we dashed quickly, but 
discovered absolutely nothing to arouse any suspi- 
cions until we started to ascend the narrow flight of 
stairs, when, on doing so, we were suddenly con- 
fronted by the dark figure of a man standing at the 
head, with a revolver pointed straight at us. He 
spoke no word, but I was amazed to recognise him 
as the man who had once before made a dastardly 
attempt upon my life — Kodolphe Wolf ! Then I knew 
that that cottage, as Edith had declared, contained 
the key to the mystery. 

“ If you attempt to come up here, I shall shoot ! ” 
cried the spy in English. 

“ I call upon you, in the name of the law, to sur- 
render as my prisoner,” responded Chick firmly in his 
loud, ringing voice. ‘‘ I don’t know your name, but I 
arrest you all the same.” 

“ His name is Wolf,” I explained breathlessly. “ He 
is Rodolphe Wolf, the French spy ! ” 

It seemed that then for the first time did the fellow 
recognise me, for, peering down, he cried : 

“It is you — you! Gerald Ingram!” 

“Yes,” I answered. “Your secret is out! We 
know the truth ! Surrender ! ” 

“ Hever ! ” he shouted, standing at bay. “ Advance 
a step, and I’ll shoot you both dead.” 

“ The place is surrounded. You cannot escape,” 
Chick replied. “I am an officer of Metropolitan 
Police, and command you to lay down your weapon.” 

But he refused, and we both saw that to ascepd 
that narrow staircase in face of his revolver was a 


354 Majesty’s Minister 

very risky proceeding. A dozen times Chick repeated 
the demand, but the adventurer was nothing daunted. 
The secret, if anywhere, was in that room, and he was 
evidently determined to guard it with his life. 

Of a sudden the inspector, handing me the revolver, 
whispered to me to remain there, covering Wolf so as 
to prevent his escape, and assured me that he would 
return instantly. He rushed outside, but returned to 
my side in a few moments. 

The vituperation which Kodolphe Wolf heaped 
upon me I need not repeat. Suffice it to say that 
during the few minutes which elapsed while we faced 
one another in that narrow way, each unable to move, 
he invoked upon my head all the curses of the evil 
one, vowing a revenge swift and terrible, not only 
upon myself, but also upon L^onie and Edith. 

With a suddenness that startled all of us, however, 
there was a loud crashing of glass in the room behind 
him, and, thus taken by surprise, he turned to see how 
it had been caused. 

In an instant Chick had sprung up the stairs, and 
we were both upon him. The spy fired his revolver, 
but at random, and the bullet pierced the ceiling. 
The inspector closed with him in deadly embrace, and 
a second later was assisted by one of the detectives, 
who had broken the window and entered the room by 
a ladder. 

The fellow still held his weapon in a desperate 
grasp, and, having succeeded in pinning Chick against 
the wall, raised the revolver to his face. At that 
instant the other officer threw himself upon the 
pair. Wolf’s revolver exploded, but the bullet, in- 
stead of entering Chick’s head, penetrated the spy’s 
own neck, close behind the ear. 


The Secret 


355 

“ Dieu ! ” he shrieked, “ I’m shot ! I’ve shot myself ! ” 
and as his grip relaxed, the two detectives allowed 
him to stagger and fall back upon the ground. 

In endeavouring to murder the inspector he had 
inflicted a fatal wound upon himself. 

Chick, who had had such a narrow escape from 
death, only brushed his clothes here and there, and 
remarked with a smile: 

“ That was pretty tough, sir, wasn’t it ? ” 

Then, ordering his assistant to look after the 
wounded prisoner, we both searched the room. At 
first we saw nothing to account for Wolf resisting our 
progress so desperately. It was a bare place, with a 
couple of tables, a chair or two, and a few papers 
that had been strewn about in the struggle. I picked 
up some. They were copies of the Figaro^ the Lihre 
Parole^ and the Petit Journal. 

But in a corner by the fireplace, I saw a twisted 
heap of pale green paper, like ribbon, and a moment 
later found beneath the table a broken telegraph-re- 
ceiver. On taking it up I saw upon the small brass 
plate the words “ General Post Office,” while near it 
lay the other portions of the apparatus, which was 
one of those which print upon the paper ribbon, and 
are worked by clockwork. 

“ Hulloa ! ” cried Chick, crossing the room and 
bending over the instrument, “ what’s that ? ” 

“ A telegraph-receiver,” I replied, at the same mo- 
ment examining the ceiling of the room and at once 
discovering two loose ends of wires suspended from 
a corner. 

The instrument had evidently been torn hurriedly 
from the wires, and an unsuccessful effort made to 
destroy it and remove all traces of its existence. 


356 Her Majesty’s Minister 

Wolf, however, had not had time to accomplish his 
object. 

While the wounded man lay groaning, we all pro- 
ceeded to make further search, and the result of our 
investigations proved startling indeed. We found 
that from the room there ran two wires outside, which, 
after being buried in the garden and along a field on 
the left, emerged beside one of the telegraph-posts on 
the main road, and joined one of the lines running to 
London. 

At first we did not realise the extreme importance 
of our discovery, but from the telegraph-tape found 
in the room and the deciphers of official despatches 
which we discovered locked in a cupboard, the amaz- 
ing truth was disclosed. 

The wire so ingeniously tapped was the Queen’s 
private wire, which ran from Windsor Castle, along 
the road through Staines and Kingston, to the Foreign 
Office, and over which Her Majesty constantly ex- 
changed views and gave instructions to the Secretary 
of State for Foreign Affairs and others of her 
Ministers. 

In that comfortless room we found transcripts of all 
kinds of official despatches and confidential messages, 
which, although sent in cipher over the wire, had been 
deciphered by the spies, who had unfortunately also 
obtained a copy of the secret code in use. The inter- 
changes of views included much that concerned Eng- 
land’s attitude in the Boer war, then still in progress, 
and had without doubt been communicated to the 
Boers through their Continental agents. Hot a single 
secret of State was safe from those emissaries of our 
enemies. Thus it was that before the suggestions or 
instructions of our Sovereign reached Downing Street, 


The Secret 


357 

they were in the possession of those who aimed at our 
downfall, for every message transmitted between 
Windsor and Downing Street, every decision of the 
Sovereign or of the Cabinet, passed through that inof- 
fensive-looking little instrument, and was registered 
upon the pale-green snake-like tape before it reached 
its destination. 

A thorough search of the place revealed a perfect 
system of receiving and deciphering the despatches, 
all of which had been carefully registered by number 
in a book and the copies sent to the Quai d’Orsay. 
Hence it was, of course, that the knowledge of Eng- 
land’s decision regarding the attitude to be adopted 
towards the Transvaal and of our policy in reference to 
Ceuta, had been obtained before the Marquess had 
even written his despatch ; while the secret instruc- 
tions which I myself had carried from Downing Street 
to Paris had actually been known to the spies before 
the Chief had put his pen to paper. They did not 
seek to secure the despatches, because they were al- 
ways in possession of the decisions and line of our 
diplomacy beforehand. 

Having taken possession of the whole of the papers, 
some of which I was amazed to discover were in 
Edith’s handwriting, we removed the whole into the 
wagonette, placed a constable in charge of the cottage, 
and ordered the wounded man’s removal to the Cot- 
tage Hospital at Staines, as being the nearest institu- 
tion where he could be treated. 

The same evening I had a long interview with the 
Marquess at his private house, and, assisted by Chick, 
showed him the papers secured as the result of our in- 
vestigations. Afterwards, when he had gone through 
them, I related to him the whole story, concealing 


358 Her Majesty’s Minister 

nothing. While I sat recounting the incidents a tele- 
gram arrived for the inspector, to whom it had been 
forwarded from Scotland Yard. It was an official 
police message stating that the prisoner Wolf had 
died in the hospital at half-past six, having made no 
statement. 

Her Majesty’s Minister heard me through, listening 
with breathless interest, and when I had concluded 
bestowed upon both of us many complimentary words. 

“ Both your Queen and your country owe a debt of 
gratitude to you, Ingram ; for by dint of care and 
perseverance you have rescued us from our secret ene- 
mies,” he said. “Best assured that your claim to 
distinction as an Englishman will not be forgotten.” 

, That night I sent a telegram from Charing Cross 
announcing to Leonie the death of the spy, which to 
her meant freedom. The same wire also carried a 
second message of comfort to Edith, with the promise 
that I would leave London for Bordighera on the fol- 
lowing morning. Then, entering the telephone-box, I 
had a long conversation with Lord Barmouth, explain- 
ing to him the truth, and receiving his heartiest con- 
gratulations and best wishes for my happiness on my 
marriage with Edith Austin, who, he declared, had 
saved England’s prestige. 


CHAPTEE XXXYII 


CONCLUSION 

Two days later I was again seated with Edith 
under the olives on the sunny hillside behind Bor- 
dighera. 

I had told her all that had happened, explained 
what we had discovered in that upper room at Cypress 
Cottage, and demanded to know the reason why some 
of the copies of those messages were in her own hand- 
writing. Our hands were clasped in fervent affection, 
and now, fearing not the revenge of either Wolf or 
Bertini, she revealed to me the plain and ghastly 
truth in regard to her connection with that band of 
unscrupulous spies who had sought to bring about 
England’s downfall. 

“ I first knew Paolo Bertini when I was at school at 
St. Leonards, six years ago. He was then our Italian 
master, and we girls admired him, and were one and 
all enamoured of our teacher, as schoolgirls so often 
are. He and I became good friends, and one day he 
urged me to steal from another girl’s locker a letter 
addressed to her by her father, a high official at the 
War Office. He wished to see it, and I gave it to him 
in ignorance that the real reason was that he desired 
the signature for purposes of forgery. I knew it after- 
wards, but he threatened if I exposed him that he 
would denounce me as a thief. From that moment 
he held me in his power, gradually drawing me into 
359 


360 Her Majesty’s Minister 

the net he so carefully spread in order to secure my 
assistance in his nefarious schemes of espionage in 
conjunction with Rodolphe Wolf. Although she 
knew that upon leaving school I should be compara- 
tively wealthy, my aunt, who, as you know, is eccen- 
tric, insisted that I should be taught some means of 
earning my own livelihood. At Bertini’s demand I 
chose telegraphy, and when I became proficient the 
wires from Windsor were tapped, and I was compelled 
to act as telegraphist in that lonely, unsuspicious-look- 
ing cottage, which became the headquarters of French 
spies in England. My many compulsory visits to 
London often aroused my aunt’s suspicion, but I 
always managed to receive convenient invitations 
from relatives or old schoolfellows, until at last I suc- 
ceeded in convincing her that all was well. Ah ! ” she 
added, her bright, honest eyes turned away over the 
broad Mediterranean, where the sun was going down 
in golden glory behind the dark purple rock of Venti- 
miglia, “ I have suffered, Gerald, quite as bitterly as 
yourself. I was held in that man’s power irrevocably, 
unable to extricate myself from the bond, unable to 
give you the least intimation of the evil influences 
always working against you, unable to accept your 
love. From the moment when, as a schoolgirl, I stole 
that letter, until to-day, my enemies implicated me 
more and more deeply, until to draw back became ut- 
terly impossible. I was their catspaw — held to them 
by fear of exposure and imprisonment, or even of 
death, if I disclosed their secret.” 

“ I understand it all now, darling. All is plain, and 
our estrangement has only rendered our love the more 
perfect.” 

“ You are generous to forgive, Gerald,” she answered 


Conclusion 


361 

in a low, faltering tone. “ But I swear it was not my 
fault. In my ignorance of the world and its ways I 
took one false step long ago while still at school, and 
then could not draw back. I became a traitress and 
a spy ! ” 

“And what of Yolande de Foville?” I inquired. 

“ She was one of us, and in the service of France,” 
my love replied. “ Like myself, she also was held in 
bondage. She wished to marry the young Count de 
Hochberg, an aide-de-camp of the Emperor William ; 
but Bertini, who was in love with her, refused to 
allow her. It was because of jealousy that he made 
the ingenious attempt upon her life by the same 
means that he did later upon an Englishman in Paris, 
named Payne, who recognised him and suspected him 
of espionage. He is in possession of the knowledge of 
some subtle alkaloid poison, which he once boasted in 
my hearing to be even more deadly than the Indian 
Bikh poison, and unknown in the science of toxi- 
cology.” 

“ And where is Yolande now ? ” 

“ In Kome. Having obtained some secret of Ber- 
tini’s past, and a knowledge of his attempt upon her 
life, she defied him, and, freeing herself from the 
secret service, married de Hochberg only a fortnight 
ago. She is spending her honeymoon in southern 
Italy.” 

“ She is married ! ” I exclaimed, surprised. 

“ Yes. Her declarations of love for you were all 
false, made at the instigation of those schemers. Wolf 
and Bertini, who intended that she should worm from 
you certain diplomatic secrets. She hated her posi- 
tion, but, like myself, was powerless and compelled to 
submit.” 


362 Her Majesty’s Minister 

“ To yoib alone, my love, is due the breaking-up of 
this ingenious band of spies, and the frustrating of the 
great conspiracy against England, which has, it seems, 
been fostered and aided by certain of the Powers.” 

“And have you really perfect confidence in my 
honour and purity, Gerald ? ” she asked again, look- 
ing at me dubiously. 

“ I love you, darling,” I answered, bending down 
once more to kiss her beautiful mouth ; “ and that my 
confidence in you remains unshaken and is the same 
to-day as it was long ago in Scotland when I first de- 
clared my love, will be shown by our marriage, which 
nothing can now prevent. We are about to come into 
our kingdom.” 

“But that letter,” she faltered, still dubious — “ that 
letter of the Princess ! ” 

“I do not love her, dearest. I have never loved 
her,” I declared earnestly. “ I am yours, and yours 
alone.” 

She turned quickly, kissing me fondly, and shedding 
tears of joy. We were both free at last, and that 
peaceful hour of our new-found happiness was full of 
that ecstasy which comes to man and woman only 
once in a lifetime, at the moment when two hearts 
first beat in unison. 

But why need I dwell upon the supreme happiness 
of that calm and glorious evening high up above the 
tideless sea, except to say that it was then each read 
the other’s heart openly and truly ; then that we dis- 
covered how best to interchange a perfect and fadeless 
affection. 

And you ask how this strange romance of an 
Englishman in his Sovereign’s service ended ? Well, 
Edith became my own queen within two months. W^ 


Conclusion 


363 

were married in London, and since my promotion and 
transfer to the Embassy at St. Petersburg our lives 
have been idyllic in their happiness. Edith likes the 
Kussian capital, where every one is so hospitable and 
the fetes are never-ending. I also prefer it to the 
artificiality and glare of Paris which is to me a city of 
bitter memories. 

As for the Princess, she is one of Edith’s warmest 
friends. She was married four months ago to Prince 
Stroganoff, a charming Kussian whom every one knows 
in Moscow and the capital, and who lives at the great 
Stroganoff Palace in St. Petersburg, where we are 
frequent visitors. Lord Barmouth’s failing health 
compelled him to retire from the Diplomatic Service 
after the lamented death of Her Majesty, and he is 
now living in London once more, after so many years 
of compulsory exile ; while the Worlds a few weeks 
ago, announced Sibyl’s engagement to the Hon. Jack 
Willoughby, who is well known as a rising politician 
and Member for one of the Metropolitan Boroughs. 
Her ladyship has written to me, declaring it to be a 
most excellent match. 

Bertini, the spy and traitor, having been condemned 
by the military court in Milan to imprisonment for 
life, is at this moment languishing in the convict prison 
at Orbetello. Assuredly Europe is well rid of such an 
ingenious and unscrupulous scoundrel. 

Hothing appeared in the English newspapers regard- 
ing Wolf’s death, beyond the statement that he had 
committed suicide rather than suffer arrest. For what 
reason the police raided Cypress Cottage never leaked 
out. It was kept a close secret, in order that the dis- 
covery of the headquarters of the French spies should 
not create undue public alarm. Hence all of the fore- 


364 Her Majesty’s Minister 

going incidents' long remained a secret chapter of 
England’s history ; and the gigantic conspiracy on the 
part of our nation’s enemies is here related for the first 
time by one who was himself a principal actor in tiie 
stirring drama of diplomacy, and who has been fortu- 
nate enough to secure peace, happiness, and the love 
of a gentle and happy woman. 


THE END 


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